The Constants and Variables Of Infinity
by TheLifeLongEditor
Summary: It all started when a mysterious woman entered his office and gave him very little choice, "Bring her the girl, and wipe away your debt". Follow as Booker DeWitt travels to the city in the sky to find the girl and perhaps redemption along the way. Wars will be fought, mysteries will be solved, and destinies will be fulfilled one way or the other. Booker/Elizabeth (non-related).
1. Chapter I: Prologue

The Constants and Variables Of Infinity

A Bioshock Infinite Fan Fiction

By TheLifeLongEditor

**A/N: Hello and welcome to my newest project, **_**The Constants and Variables of Infinity, **_**my own take on the Bioshock Infinite storyline as well as the relationships shared by Booker, Elizabeth, Comstock, Fitzroy, and many of the other interesting and exciting characters in the story. For starters family will not relate Booker and Elizabeth, but there is something larger than them bringing them together and what that is…remains to be seen. I really hope you all enjoy this and I am going to try to write this regularly or at least semi-regularly as I go through another play through of the game. **

**Additionally this is going to be a different take on the Bioshock Infinite Universe, more specifically a somewhat radically departed universe but not so much that it's unrecognizable. As the title sort of alludes to, this story takes several constants and shifts them into variables. I don't want to give away too much, but I hope that you all enjoy my particular take on the story. **

**In any event I don't own Bioshock Infinite or its characters, they belong to Ken Levine and the now defunct Irrational Games…I'm just having fun with them right now.**

* * *

There was an irresistible compulsion driving Booker Dewitt press onward through the vast emptiness and depths of the ocean before him. He couldn't recall why he was here or even what he was looking for, all he knew was that deep within his brain was a compelling impulse forcing him forward. As veteran continued his journey, swimming through kelp fields and around rocks, Booker took note that he must finally be near his destination. A giant statue of immense proportions depicting a deep sea diver with what appeared to be a massive drill suddenly appeared from the otherwise blinding darkness of the abysmal depths.

Giving pause to observe the strange statue, Booker turned his attention forward and surmounted a rocky hill and upon reaching the top he found what he knew to be his prize. There, illuminated by an unseen light source, was a massive and impossible city. Located God knows where, powered by God only knew what, Booker attempted make way toward the seemingly massive superstructure when a large creature of the deep rushed past him with a flurry of movement and agility.

Taken aback by the presence of another creature, all at once Booker s realized the city wasn't so far away, the creature of the deep wasn't some unknown behemoth of the abyss, and his surroundings weren't exactly natural. With a sudden flash of revealing light, Booker was treated the sight of a model city complete with a placard which read:

_1893 Chicago World's Fair_

Before booker could even begin to comprehend what he was seeing, a foreign and powerful force latched down and impressed upon the back of his head. Booker no longer felt at ease but instead felt as if her were suffocating and desperately attempted to escape this most recent predicament. Driven by pure fight-or-flight instinct, Booker resisted with all of his might and wrenched himself free of whatever malevolent force that sought to bring a watery end to his already miserable existence.

Releasing himself from his aquatic bondage, Booker took note of the surface which he was fiercely gripping, the great oceanic explorative voyage he had thought he was undertaking had all been containing within a simple fish tank. Before he could further establish any bearing, Booker was jerked away from the fish tank whereupon he rolled around rather haphazardly across the floor, coughing and sputtering up an unhealthy mixture of water and oxygen as he attempted to regain control of his faculties.

Taking several deep breaths and looking about the room, Booker's eyes spied the glowing aquatic container, a lone source of light in an otherwise dark and void room in attempt to ascertain just where exactly he happened to be. Swiftly returning his attention before him, Booker could only watch in horror as the statuette of the deep sea diver, once safely contained within the confines of the tank, was harshly crushed beneath a large metallic boot adorned with rivets and bolts.

The sounds of whirling gears and pumping machinery gave Booker a sense of dread as he allowed his gaze to trail upward where in he spotted an incredible large metallic hand flexing equally impressive metallic fingers. Whatever this creature was, it was not of God's natural creation that much Booker had been certain. Before he could say or do anything, the creature lunged its massive hand forward and picked Booker up by his head, covering partially covering his mouth in the process. Booker could do nothing but pull and gnash at the steely appendage as he felt himself yanked up from a completely prone position to being completely off his feet. Directed away from the room's only stable light source, Booker's eyes were treated to the unnatural glow of what appeared to be a glass container housing a very large heart with wires and tubing running throughout its musculature.

Booker felt the creature turn him and rear its arm back and it was then that Booker noticed the set of amber stained glass windows before him. A wave of dread over took the frightened man as he had a distinct feeling that he knew what was coming next. In a matter of seconds, the creature tossed Booker across the expansive room and through the ornately decorated glass windows. Having barely any time to put his hands up, Booker cleared through the glassy portal as if it were made of rice paper. Briefly blinded by the intense light of what Booker could only hazard a guess was the sun, his sight quickly became clear and feelings of fear quickly mingled with thoughts of wonder and confusion at the sight that lay before him. He was not in New York City, nor was he twenty thousand leagues beneath the sea as he had originally come to discover, but he was instead amidst some of the highest towers amidst a city floating high above the clouds.

Three abnormally elaborate spires bore three distinct poles hoisting a strange version of the star spangled banner that DeWitt had grown accustomed to serving and fighting for throughout his young life. Booker realized that time had almost seemed to stand still as he took in all this mysterious and impossible city had to offer, but such a moment vanished just as soon as it left and Booker began to plunge downward with increasing speed toward his inevitable doom.

Looking down rather nervously he spotted a zeppelin of unknown make and origin; sure there were better ways to break a fall, but Booker wasn't about to be picky especially when the alternative was falling thousands of feet to his death. With a sudden and profound thump, Booker's body made contact with the the lighter-than-air craft and no sooner did he land did the veteran begin to tumble and roll off its springy surface. Scrambling to grab hold of something...anything...to stay his demise, Booker hooted in success as his desperate hands found a loose sheath of the clothe like covering of the flying machine. Though his joy quickly turned to anxiety as the stretchy material began to tear away. With each inch given, Booker closed his eyes and said his prayers as he just _knew _this time was assuredly the end. It wasn't until he was jerked to a sudden halt that he opened and saw that the material, for the time being, had resisted tearing any further and was, in fact, supporting his weight.

Booker turned his attention away from his newfound salvation and gave closer note to his abnormal surroudings, more specifically the strange advertisements on three of the monumental towers that floated before him. The furthest billboard from him read something to the effect of _The First Lady _with an image of an attractive yet modest woman buttressed by a billowing red, white, and blue flag behind her. Furrowing his brow, Booker noted the second large advert adorning a hotel advertised a call to arms reading, "_Columbia Wants You!" _That name, Columbia, it definitely rang a bell somewhere in the Pinkerton's mind but in his present state he was having trouble recollecting why the name brought up such feelings of nostalgia. Moving his attention the third large advert which gave Booker cause for concern read: "_It Is Our Holy Duty To Protect Them From the Foreign Hordes and The Traitorous Anarchists" _The display depicted young children in formal wear waving to an unseen third party whilst firmly gripping an modified American Flag.

Shaking his head from the strange propaganda, Booker once more turned to see what else this foreign metropolis of the sky had to offer and was instantly greeted to a large propaganda piece depicting a woman adorned with a star-spangled bodice and a flowing red and white striped skirt with a smiling infant snuggled safely at her bosom whilst holding her left hand out, rejecting a malnourished newborn without so much of a thought. Bold letters above this strange image read, "_Burden NOT Columbia with your CHAFF!" _

Booker didn't have too much time to consider the strange and disparaging imagery for his ears suddenly perked up to a very familiar tune, a tune that quickly became clear to the former soldier as being a popular diddy in New York over the past few years: _Y_

_"...You're a grand old flag_  
_You're a high-flying flag_  
_And forever in peace may you wave..."_

Booker briefly nodded his head to refocus wherein he spotted a well-to-do man in the midst of mock conducting the gramophone playing the popular song, at that moment Booker had found something he'd lacked throughout this entire ordeal, _hope_. Perhaps this man would kindly assist Booker off this flying machine as well as determining just what the hell he was doing here and how he could get back home.

Just as DeWitt mustered up the strength to cry out to the man, a blaring horn cut through the air with a deafening bombast of sound. Whipping his head around rather abruptly to locate the source, Booker realized that the the dirigible he had been hanging from was on a direct course for some type of structure up ahead, whatever it was Booker couldn't help but feel awed at its sheer size. It was supported platform of balloons and as Booker's eyes traveled up he found he could clearly focus on the details of the structure and determined it to be a massive mansion. The horn sounded once more and the flotation devices, the likes of which Booker had never seen before, ignited with brilliant fire and propelled the superstructure up and away, out of sight and out of Booker's immediate concern.

Unfortunately while Booker DeWitt had been utterly enthralled by the magnificent marvel that was this great feat of human achievement, he had failed to fully appreciate the gravity of his situation. The sound of rapidly tearing cloth filled his ears and Booker shifted his eyes upward noting the cloth which, up until this point, had been supporting his full weight had torn further until it finally failed completely sending the poor man once again plunging to his death...at least Booker thought right up until his fall was immediately cut short by landing in a floating bundle of ruby red and thornless roses. Booker was astounded to say the least, he felt lighter than air and a sensation of being enveloped by a lover. Curiously he began to hear the softest whispers from the most angelic voice assure him as he felt a slight pull toward a structure to his immediate left.

"_It's alright"_

"_You're safe."_

"_I won't let you fall, my love."_

"_Just a little closer…"_

Still a little dazed and disoriented from the sudden stop, Booker looked around to find the source of the roses and found the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon reaching out to him, arms stretched out as if controlling the very air surrounding both Booker and the roses, drawing him nearer with each passing second. As he moved closer, Booker was able to note the brilliant blue bolero this incredible woman wore, perfectly complimenting a golden corset that accentuated the woman's figure to the highest degree. But it was her blue eyes and gorgeous smile that Booker was drawn to, like a moth to the flame he couldn't help but stare deep into her blue pools and lose himself in their shimmering depths.

Booker reached out to touch this goddess of a woman and her smile widened as their hands almost met; alas it was not meant to be, for merely inches apart Booker noticed that same large mechanical hand from his earlier ordeal emerge from the shadows behind the beautiful maiden and ensnare her lithe waist in a vice like grip. Looking down at the hand gripping her tightly, the woman gasped in surprise before returning Booker's stare. All she could do was scream as the unseen figure dragged her way for God only knew what purpose. As the windows shut and the girl vanished, so too did whatever gravity she had sustained as well. In that instant Bookers fall continued and as he looked down, the broken man knew he was on a collision course with a propeller. Bringing his hands to bear before his eyes was the only thing he could do before meeting certain death…and then…BANG

* * *

Pinkerton National Detective Agency,

Main Office, New York Branch

July 4th, 1912

* * *

Booker awoke with a start, having slumped over his desk after a very long job. Carefully the young detective lifted his head and found he was surrounded by various bottles of empty whiskey. His eyes still hazy from the activities of the night before, the details of his arrival and the events that occured prior slowly seeped into his booze addled mind. Looking about the room, Booker quickly familiarized himself with his surroundings; this was his office. Against most odds, he had managed to return to his office to write up a full report for his superiors as he had finally secured an arrest of that notorious Fenton fellow that all of the local big whigs seemed to fear. Booker had been assigned to the case partially because he was available and partially because his bosses knew he was among their best. Looking across his desk he noticed an opened envelope and a letter laying just above where he had laid his head down, and iinstantly he remembered everything; why he had _really_ come back to the office, what the contents of the letter were, and more importantly, why he had drank more than three men's worth of whiskey last night.

Before Booker could get too comfortable, three loud wraps came upon his office door.

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

"DeWitt, I've been knocking here for twenty minutes, so if you don't open up I'm breakin' the door down and then its your ass on the line!" A very familiar voice gruffly declared from the other side of the marked glass. Looking ahead Booker couldn't help but smirk at the lettering on the door, _Booker DeWitt – Pinkerton National Detective Agency – Investigator. _

"Alright Jonas, alright, just give me a minute and I'll get the damn door open." Booker half responded as he slowly got up and stretched out, hours of sleeping at his desk hadn't done him any favors, not especially considering the copious volumes of alcohol he had imbibed the night prior. Making his way across the office, he unlocked the door and opened the portal for his comrade-in-arms and sometimes-friend to step through.

"DeWitt, you could sleep though an explodin' bomb factory, ya' know that?!" The taller man jibed as he stepped through and shut the door behind him. Jonas was roughly six foot and four inches tall with very broad shoulders a bright red bushy beard. Clean shaven on the top, Jonas was a formidable threat to anyone who had dared come across his path and impede his progress, but he had never scared Booker DeWitt.

"Yeah, Yeah, Jonas I've had a pretty rough time of it, could you lay off a little." Booker shot back rubbing the back of his head as he returned back to sitting behind his desk, casually gesturing for his colleague to take one of the vacant chairs sitting before the desk.

"Booker, I'm not hear to break your balls, but you gotta listen. I can understand gambling, it's fun and sometimes you make a little money…" Jonas paused and picked up a bottle of whiskey littering the younger man's desk. "But Jesus, DeWitt…this shit ain't nothing but trouble. You're too young to start fallin' in the bottle."

Booker merely shrugged with a sigh.

"I mean it DeWitt, you need to quit while your ahead or you can kiss your job and everything that might mean something to ya' goodbye! Take it from someone who knows first hand, after the war I damn near started and if it weren't for my wife…well...needless to say I was on a one way ticket to hell. Is that what you want? What would your mo…" Booker slamed his fist down upon the desk, jostling the bottles and various supplies littering the wooden landscape, halting whatever line of thinking Jonas had been following up to that point.

"Listen Jonas, I told you I've had a _pretty rough go of it _as of late and why don't we leave it at that? 'kay? Now if all you wanted to do was barge in, piss up a storm, and give me a lecture then consider your mission accomplished." Booker complained as he rubbed his head, not quite sure if it were the implications of Jonas' words or the hangover that was slowly driving needles into his brain.

"Well Mr. Smartass, I came because there's some girl here to see you and, for reasons unknown to me, won't see anyone else…not that anyone else is here, you're among a very special group of workaholics here that would still be working on Independence Day." Jonas replied smugly with crossed arms. Booker perked up at his friends' revelation, someone looking specifically for him was certainly an oddity especially seeing as to most people one Pinkerton was no different from the other.

"Did she say what she wanted?" Booker asked intrigued by the prospect of another well paying job.

"Nope, all she would say was that she _needed _to see Booker DeWitt, and that it was of the _utmost importance _that she speak with you as soon as possible." The taller man emphasized with slight sarcasm as he relayed the information to his friend.

"Well…shit…and she's here now?" Booker asked, rubbing the back of his neck and taking full inventor of his office's current state of affairs. Jonas merely nodded with wide eyes and a full grin.

"All right, ALL RIGHT, send her in, I'll toss these bottles real quick." Booker caved as he stood up and grabbed the nearby waste basked and began tossing the empty bottles inside. Jonas stood to his full height, clapped his hands together, and told Booker to straighten himself out and promptly left to retrieve the mysterious girl In question.

Within moments, Booker heard the telltale sounds of a woman approaching his office door. The sound of heels clicking grew louder and louder and sooner Booker could see the familiar feminine shadow beyond the glass of his door accompanied by Jonas's much larger frame. Jonas made some polite gesture to which the lady returned before the younger Pinkerton saw the knob to his door begin to turn.

"…Here you go, miss." Jonas offered politely.

"Thank you kindly for your help, Mr. Rutherford, it was most appreciated." The woman responded before closing the door behind her.

This woman was an oddity to say the least, she looked to be anywhere between her mid-twenties and early-thirties. This woman was very petite as far as the fairer sex went, and was very trim overall. Booker surmised the lady was around five-foot-five maybe even five-foot-six, thought she was undoubtedly wearing heels so his estimation might have been off by an inch or two. Her hair was up in a Gibson style, kept in check beneath a rather large and haughty wide-brimmed black hat. This mysterious woman further adorned herself with a pale blue chiffon tiered dress with a wrap around her narrow waist, which served to accentuate her female features without sacrificing modesty.

Booker stood instantly upon her entrance into his office, an automatic response after years of instruction by his mother, the woman had been hellbent on educating Booker on the finer points of chivalry and courtesy. Of course Booker was certain it was an attempt to make him a respectable bachelor in the days where he would start looking for a good wife.

"Ma'am, would you like to take a seat? Perhaps I could fetch you a glass of water for your trouble? I do apologize for keeping you waiting I was…erh…preoccupied" Booker finished rather sheepishly.

"I will gladly take a seat Mr. DeWitt, though I will decline that water at this time as Mr. Rutherford saw to my needs while I waited for you to _finish _your business." The woman responded with an unnerving smile as she glided across the room, radiating pure elegance poise with each delicate step. Booker paused, something about this woman set him on edge but he couldn't put his finger on it. Booker chalked it up to the unnerving dream he'd just experienced and tried to shrug it off.

"Well then Miss…uh….why don't we start with your name?" Booker inquired, he needed to get a handle on this situation; he wasn't the type of guy who handed over control easily.

"My name isn't important Mr. DeWitt." The woman began with an unsettling laugh. "What matters most is what you can do for me…and what _I _can do for _you." _

"Look lady, I don't know what you think you know about me, but if this is about my rate I can only tell you I follow the standard Pinkerton…" Booker stopped when he noticed the woman before him shook her head another toe curling laugh. Booker didn't like any of this, he didn't like it one bit.

"Oh I know you quite well Booker James DeWitt…" locking eyes with the Pinkerton, the woman pressed on. "Born April 19th, 1884 to Jonathan B. DeWitt and Ruth C. DeWitt, the middle of three children."

"O-Okay…look…any of that could be found in my service..." Booker tried to interrupt, but the lady continued unabated.

"Your eldest brother Jonathan DeWitt Jr. passed away two weeks ago from apparent overdose…you would have had enough money to help him but you had other obligations at home so you gambled and took out loans in attempt to get him cleaned up and on the right track…and unfortunately it was all for naught and now here we are, Mr. DeWitt." She finished with a saucy grin, as if watching Booker squirm gave her a sick sense of superiority and satisfaction.

"H-How the fuck do you know all of this?" Booker tried his best to maintain composure but everything she had laid out, his brother, that was personal information, nobody had known about his brother and he had made damn sure to keep it that way. Out of all things, Booker was a private man, he didn't like to air out his laundry in a manner of speaking and he certainly didn't go babbling around town like some school boy about every bit of drama in his life.

"I know what you're thinking Mr. DeWitt…I know _everything _about you. I know about your time in the marines, I know about your tour in the Chinese campaign, in _Peiking, _I know what you _allowed _to happen under your watch, I know about the people you slaughtered…" she stopped to see Booker's eyes get wider and wider, she knew she had him.

"I even know about _A.D…" _Booker stood abruptly, his chair flew into the wall behind him with a dull thud. Wrapping his scared right hand in his left, Booker was careful not let his eyes wander away from this creature masquerading as a woman. "Yes that's right, I know all about your sordid past and your pitiful attempts at redemption." Booker's heart rate sored at this point, here he was just waking up from an all night binder and now this woman, whom he had no prior acquaintance, basically came in and spoke as if she had lived his life right next to him.

"Relax Mr. DeWitt, I'm not hear to blackmail you, though it wouldn't be too terribly difficult. No, I have a job for you, if you would like to hear it?" She offered, pulling a manila envelope seemingly out of thin air and set it down gently upon his desk. Booker cautiously surveyed the scene before him and slowly recovered his chair and returned to a seated position behind his desk.

"Well you could refuse…but then, what would happen to those you hold dear, hm? We both know you have certain _obligations _that have required increasingly higher sums of money, and then there are your _creditors, _I'm sure they would just love to find out where you sleep at night." She clicked her tongue at the last sentiment as she gave his office a full once over, making note of several commendations and awards for service he had adorning his walls before returning her intense gaze upon his green eyes.

"You see there's always a choice, but I suppose you could say it's all a matter making the _right _decision." She finished politely. Booker scoffed and opened the envelop to find a folder folder with no labels of any kind. Booker slowly opened the folder and found set of grainy black-and-white photographs of a young girl in various states of being, all of which involved her turned mostly away from the camera. Additionally booker noted a piece of paper with several numbers letters but hadn't concerned himself with that as of yet, at this moment all that concerned him was this vaguely familiar girl.

"What do you want with her?" Booker asked with furrowed brow, examining the young woman in the photographs. That feeling of knowing and belonging nagged him at his core, but Booker couldn't place where he would have seen such a beautiful young girl. He was certain he would have remembered running into a beauty like her.

"Simple Mr. DeWitt, Bring _ME _the girl and I'll wipe away your debts…spiritually and financially." The mysterious woman blithely declared while she looked upon her nails in a manner similar to a person making a decision as to what appetizer they would order a restaurant.a

"Spiritually? Look, you might be powerful and connected and all that, but I don't think even _you_ can absolve me for my sins." Booker shot back darkly.

"The road to hell is paved with good intention, you've just about paved the whole city at this rate and you're only twenty-eight. You need to realize that this is your _last _chance to truly redeem yourself for what you've done." At this Booker, looked at the photographs once more and a separate piece of parchment containing coordinates for reaching the girl as well as delivery.

With a heavy sigh, Booker weighed his options his options carefully, what little of them he had at any rate. One the one hand he could tell this woman to go pound sand really figure out just how much power and influence she _really_ wielded the hard way. Or he could take this deal with the devil in some vain hope of redemption. All he knew was that there were people who depended on him and there were people who were gunning for him, and he needed to take care of both in their own way. Booker rubbed his face in defeat and with a heavy sigh nodded in acceptance.

"Alright…alright, you got a deal…I'll get your girl for you."

"Wonderful, I'm so glad you see things from my perspective, Mr. DeWitt." She gingerly extended her gloved hand for a shake to seal the deal and as Booker clasped hers felt a cold chill overcome his entirety, as if hell itself had frozen over.

Once the woman departed his office, Booker took a huge sigh of relief and retrieved a cigarette from his breast pocket. Lighting up the tobacco and nicotine infusion, the Pinkerton agent took in a deep breath and exhaled with a powerful sigh.

"_Just what the hell have I signed up for?" _He thought to himself as he looked over the photos again. Poor girl, she looked to be twenty maybe twenty-one at most. Christ, she was just a kid, hell he was still a kid in most people's eyes. As far as Booker was concerned this world was one screwed up place that ate kids up and spewed them out broken and hollowed out men and women. After a few more puffs, Booker put out his cigarette and picked up his dial line and dialed the office secretary.

"Hey Denise…yeah it's Booker…yeah, swell. Listen I need to place a call for me…yeah Sarah again…thanks." Booker listened to the dial tones and waited for a very unpleasant phone call to begin.

* * *

**End Note: Well there's the first chapter down. I really again hope you all liked it. I wanted to reveal some information about this changed Booker to give a taste of the differences while attempting to keep as close to character as possible. Trust me as we go into the story more, we're going to learn a lot about our characters.**

**It might be a little bit between now and the next chapter, but no worries I have no intentions of letting this story sit idle. Reviews are always welcomed and greatly appreciated and I check my private messages regularly if you have any special advice or feedback.**

**Until next time this is….TheLifeLongEditor, **

**Signing off!**


	2. Chapter 2: Follow The Trail

**Chapter II: Follow The Trail**

**A/N: This is going to be a bit of an intermediate chapter, a pre-columbia chapter if you will, but I wanted to have it out there all the same, I hope you all enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, its characters and everything about it belongs to Ken Levine and whoever holds the rights now that Irrational Games is defunct.**

* * *

Booker wasted no time in filing the necessary paperwork and expense report from his previous assignment. He wanted nothing more than to finish his work, put in notice for his new assignment, and put this whole day behind him just as soon as possible. Booker locked up his office and set out to take a very long walk to sort things out, not even bothering to give Jonas a proper goodbye, satisfied with giving a grunt and a wave as he departed the Pinkerton New York Office. Out of instinct, the former solder looked left and right to scan the sidewalk and street he'd just stepped out on to scan the area for possible signs of danger. Feeling confident he wasn't being watched, Booker fixed his collar and set out to process what had happened not so long ago. Booker wandered around for a few hours in a daze, passing by various shops and bars, careful not to blithely barge into anyone on else the street as he tried to sort through the waves of confusion he felt.

He couldn't believe that this woman, whomever she happened to be, could have possibly known so much about him. Booker knew someone could have accessed some of his files and gotten a rough history of his service, but anything before that someone would have had to go purposefully digging into his past. It begged the question as to whom this woman could have interrogated for the information or if she had interrogated anyone at all; perhaps this mysterious lady could have put a tail on him. Whatever the case, the Pinkerton detective knew he'd been backed into a pretty bad corner…no…he'd backed _himself_ into a pretty tight corner, the lady had just been the cat that caught his proverbial canary.

Booker approached a street corner, took note of where he currently stood in the city in total relation to his apartment, and dashed across the street to avoid oncoming traffic. He turned right and proceeded to shove his hands deeper into his pockets in frustration. Booker hated being manipulated in any sense of the word; it wasn't that he had an issue of following orders, on the contrary his service in the military spoke for itself. The problem that Booker had with this whole situation was the feeling that any particular choice he might have had was snatched away without him ever knowing it. Booker felt like a pawn in a game he didn't fully understand, held at the whim of a player who didn't really care what happened to him in the end.

Shaking his end, the war veteran pulled a small packet out of his breast pocket, retrieved a cigarette, and proceeded to light up and take a long drag before releasing his tension with a long exhale. Taking a pause, Booker noticed how the city seemed to transform itself into the center of American spirit for Independence Day. The buildings adopted a more bold and patriotic visage, as patriotic banners surrounded doorways and marquis, and billowing American flags hung on just about every street corner. The city took great pride in celebrating the nation's anniversary of declaring independence from British Tyranny and the battles that the country had fought in the years following the nation's victory.

Looking about the street, Booker took note of a particular group of people; two children, a boy and a girl, ran about the sidewalk and streets laughing and smiling as they went, their little fists tightly clutching miniature American flags. Not too far behind them, Booker spotted a loving couple walking exasperatedly after their progeny. They were talking amongst themselves, though their eyes never left their children. Booker couldn't help but grin at the sight of a loving family, it gave him a certain sense of joy knowing that there had been those out there who had found that special someone to share their life with and to trust enough to have a family. Booker's eyes went wide as memories he had long since buried threatened to spill the banks of consciousness and once more Booker was taken back to a very painful point in his past.

"_We can go wherever you want, just name the place and we'll go!"_

"_You're a fool, Booker James DeWitt, an absolute fool!"_

"_I'm not a fool 'MISS Annabelle Watson', I'm just in love!"_

"_Well, Mr. DeWitt, I do hate to dash your wild notions of grandeur, but love doesn't put a roof over our head or food on a table! Besides I don't…"_

"_I've got a plan Anna, trust me, you'll see…I know I've made some mistakes, but I've got a plan that's going to take us far away from here, and we'll be able to have that life you've always dreamed. I promise."_

"_Oh…Booker…"_

Booker backed into a wall and shook his head violently, desperate to shake these horrible memories from his mind's eye. Looking down at the top of his right hand, Booker traced the fingers over scars in the top of his hand.

_A.D._

It wasn't just the random carving of a lunatic nor was it a scar from war. Booker remembered when he etched those two letters into his flesh; each sensation of pain would be a reminder of his past. As much as Booker wanted to lock away the memories of his youth away so deep that they would never see the light of day again, he knew he could never forget his greatest mistake. _A.D. _was the reason why he never involved himself with another woman, why he never settled down like his compatriots, why, in Booker's estimation, he would never have what he desired most, a family of his own. No wife, no kids, nothing, Booker didn't feel he deserved that, not after Peking, not after the disaster that was Annabelle Watson. Booker took a few more drags before tossing his cigarette out into the street and proceeded in making his way back home, at this point he just wanted to get home and rest.

* * *

Thirty Minutes Later

* * *

Booker stood before his apartment building and looked upward at the top floor, his eyes landed on a window adorning a street facing corner unit; honestly it wasn't the epitome of high society but it wasn't a slum by any means. Booker had found the place on a recommendation from Jonas after accepting the offer to join the Pinkertons National Detective Agency. It had been a couple of years since he'd signed that paperwork and moved in, but these days Booker seemed to spend most days and nights away from the comfort of his own room, chasing down criminals, tempering unruly workers, and doing other jobs the company had assigned.

Walking up the steps to the building, Booker stepped through the entryway leading to a long hallway adorned with various post boxes. Taking a moment to scan the wall, Booker spotted the familiar box adorned with **'B. DeWitt'****. **Before he could retrieve his key to check for mail, a loud raucous interrupted his thoughts down the hall as a door unceremoniously opened and a stocky balding man with a burly black mustache emerged with two paper bags filled with trash. Rick DeCarlo, the building's landlord, Booker could spot him a mile away.

"DeWitt, my goodness, it's been a long time since I seen you around here, work keeping you busy, yes?" The portly man asked with a warm grin as he set the trash down, wiped his hands on his pants, and crossed the distance between him and Booker in seemingly record time to envelop the exhausted man in a friendly hug.

"Yeah…been keepin' busy, Pinkerton's got me going all sorts a' places." Booker sheepishly replied as he returned the hug briefly as Rick released him from his iron-like grip.

"Ah, better to be working than on the street looking for work, that's what my papa used to tell me." Rick declared proudly .

"Right…so Rick, how's the wife and kids?" Booker asked politely. Normally Booker would have just dropped the conversation at a polite hello and left it at that. But Rick had proven to be a reliable source of information and had even helped Booker in some personal matters since he first came to him looking for a place to stay. In fact, Booker could even consider Rick one of those very select group of people he actually trusted with anything important in this city.

"They are good, very good, Antonia took the kids down to the park to see the big Independence Day celebration. In fact, I'm finishing up here myself and going to join them. You should come too, you'd have fun!" Rick said with hope in his eyes.

"Sorry Rick, I'm beat, and I need to get as much as rest as I can. Just got a new job today that looks to be quite involved if you know what I mean." Booker politely declined with a sigh.

"Ah well, perhaps next year then? Well I won't keep you too long…Oh, be sure to thank your friends at the Pinkerton's for dropping off your rent check for you. I didn't take you for that trusting type, but who I am to judge, right? Strange fellows they were, talking in riddles, couldn't tell if they were related or what…strange people you work with DeWitt." Rick said as he retrieved the brown bags and continued out the front door. Booker furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Yeah, we got some characters at the office. See you around, Rick" Booker said as he turned his back on the jovial first generation immigrant who waved back in acknowledgement.

"_Odd, I never sent anyone to deliver no rent check. What the hell is going on?"_

Booker climbed up the stairs with new-found trepidation. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of wicked web he had been ensnared. A woman coming to his office knowing his life's story and forcing him to take, what he was convinced to be, a suicide job. Now this talk of two strangers stopping by his apartment and dropping off a rent payment, things were getting too bizarre for Booker's comfort. It wasn't like Booker had gone through a lot of trouble to keep his whereabouts unknown, but he hadn't exactly gone around handing out his address to every tom, dick, and harry who walked the street.

Making it to the top floor, DeWitt noticed his door was slightly ajar. From his angle, Booker couldn't say for certain how entry was gained to his apartment, but it didn't appear as if his door had been forced open. Still, Booker was cautious, and proceeded to draw his C96 Mouser from his worn hip-holster and quietly made his way down the hall toward his domicile.

Coming to a stop just outside his door, Booker's heart began to pound at the possibilities at what lay in wait behind the rather plan looking wooden door. Was it a relative of a criminal he'd tracked down and put away, was it a mobster looking to expand his turf, could it be some random cook breaking in looking for something valuable? Booker's mind explored every possibility and with each passing second his adrenaline skyrocketed higher and higher. The former soldier closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Taking a mental countdown from three, Booker kicked his door completely open and launched into his darkened apartment.

"Alright, whoever's in here come out with your hands up! Make any sudden moves and I'll put one between your eyes!" He charged defiantly, but there was no response.

Reaching over Booker flipped the main switch to illuminate his apartment and found that the residence was completely unoccupied. No furniture had been moved, no items appeared to be missing, in fact if Booker didn't know better he would have thought he just left the door open by mistake the last time he was home. But Booker knew better, he wasn't the careless type.

Making his way throughout the apartment, Booker checked each room for any signs of intrusion, but found everything was exactly as he had left it. The detective holstered his sidearm and made his way over to the desk in the corner of the main room, and promptly sat in the wood desk chair and ran a hand over his face. It was then that the exhausted man spotted a package wrapped in brown paper accompanied by a rather fancy looking envelope in the center of his desk. Tilting his head in curiosity, Booker leaned forward grabbed a silver letter opener and proceeding to retrieve the contents within.

_**Mr. DeWitt,**_

**_By now you have been charged with the task of retrieving a very important girl from a precarious position for reasons quite unknown to you. It is imperative you take this matter seriously and follow our recommendation, we want you to succeed but cannot offer any guarantee without your express involvement. We do apologize for not being able to relay this information in person, but all will be revealed in time. _**

_**What is important is that you steel yourself for the job at hand. You will notice there is a package on your desk, open it. Therein you will find what you need to get started on your little quest. Take note of the train ticket and your time, you will need to move quickly in order to achieve your goal. Hesitate even for a moment and all could be lost. **_

_**Do as we say and we can guarantee a measure of success. Don't fret about contacting us, we will find you! **_

_**-R. Lutece **_

Booker set the letter down and ran a hand through his rather long hair, his eyes wide at this new development. He had some semblance of a name, or names, and that was at lleast a starting off point to figuring out what was going on and what part Booker was to play in this whole mess. Turning his attention to the package before him, Booker untied the string and tore through the beige paper to find a finely polished wooden box. It was rather non descript save the metal plate at the center of the lid which read:

**Property Of Booker DeWitt**

**USMC Legation Guard, Peking **

Booker closed his eyes upon reading the inscription and stifled the memories of his service as he opened the container to explore the contents that lay within. The first item booker noticed was a small manila envelope. Retrieving it slowly, Booker opened the package and found a similar set of photographs to the ones the girl had given in him in his office earlier today. The resolution had been much higher and he had been able to make out a few more details, but none had given him a clear view of her face. One picture stood out the most, a picture of the young girl in a white blouse just looking away from the aperture of the camera. One could clearly see a portion of her face, but it wasn't enough for a clear vision of what she looked like. Still though, there was something about her that tore at Booker's mind: Just who was this girl, why the hell was everyone after her, and why was she so damned familiar?

Putting those questions aside for the time being, Booker looked at the remaining items in the box. There wasn't much else that lay within, a card with a couple of symbols, x's and numbers, with a small note paper clipped to the card reading 'Keep on your person'. Retrieving the card and placing it on his desk, Booker looked at the next item that caught his attention, it appeared to be a postcard but unlike any he'd ever come across. It depicted a beautiful angel with her arms open in an inviting manner. Booker spotted a coin purse filled with strange a denomination, no doubt the currency of where he happened to be headed. Lastly Booker noted a pre-purchased train ticket, just as the letter had foretold, marked for an engine departing the station at 8:00pm.

Looking over at this wall clock, Booker noted the time was 7:15pm. Cursing his luck, Booker shot up from his desk and flew into his bedroom with purpose. Booker knew if he were to change and leave now, he would just barely make it with a minute or two to spare to get on this train. Quickly changing into an older worn pair of black slacks, white collared shirt, and black long-coat, Booker came back to the main room and continued to dress while retrieving the essential contents of the box. Making his way to the front door, Booker took one last longing look at his apartment.

"Why do I get the feeling it's gonna be a while before I come back to you again?" He asked the empty room. With a dark chuckle, the detective stepped out and locked the door behind him. Booker immediately made a mad dash down the stairs and headed off to make a train that would invariably deliver him to a job that would, unbeknownst to him, drastically alter the course of his life forever.

* * *

**Endnote: Again a different chapter, we get a few glimpses into this different Booker and we get to see another one of his affiliates. But things are starting to pick up and the next chapter will bring our hero to the city in the clouds!**

**As always, reviews are welcomed and greatly appreciated. If you could leave one before you leave, I can't tell you what a difference that makes.**

** If you have any precise criticisms or ideas, don't hesitate to PM as I check those regularly.**

**Again thank you for reading!**

**Respectfully,**

**TheLifeLongEditor**


	3. Chapter 3: Into The Maelstrom Darkly

**Cbapter III: Into The Maelstrom Darkly**

**By TheLifeLongEditor**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, I'm just borrowing it for a while for a spot of fun.**

* * *

From the moment Booker closed the door to his apartment, the hairs on the back of his head stood at attention; he was anxious, suspicious, and overall uneasy at how events had begun to unfold. When he vacated the building, the nervous detective discovered that a taxicab had already been waiting outside with explicit instruction to deliver him to the train station without any further delay. Normally Booker wouldn't have concerned himself with the route a driver took yet it became immediately apparent to the detective that this particular driver knew the specific route all too well as he managed to avoid any sort of celebratory traffic that would have otherwise choked the normal streets any other would have taken. In hindsight Booker could have chalked this entire experience up to serendipity, but he knew far better than to give in to that sort of naivety. Someone had gone through great lengths to orchestrate these events just carefully enough to throw off casual suspicion but with enough calculation to let him know that he didn't have any choice but to follow the path set before him.

Booker handed his ticket to the attendent who was only happy to punch the stub and escort him aboard all the while informing him in advance that there were calls for inclement weather approaching the northeast and that such a forecast had the potentially to bring 'slight' delays in transit. Booker merely nodded with a 'much obliged' before making his way deeper into the car to find a solitary compartment. To Booker's surprise the train had been quite full given the national holiday, and had all but given up on the idea of solitary travel. however fortune appeared smile as the exhausted man was treated to the sight of single empty compartment toward the very back.

"Finally, might be able to catch a few hours before I fall to pieces."He mused quietly to himself as he opened the compartment door, stepped in, and shut it just as quickly. Taking a step forward, Booker elected to occupy a window seat and proceeded to prop his legs on the cushioned seat opposite his own.

Bringing his wrist up and pulling the sleeve of his shirt and coat back, the detective glanced down at his watch to note the time, 7:56. It would only be a few more minutes before the familiar rumble of the engine would course through the frame of the car and the train would lurch forward, bringing Booker all the closer to the job at hand. The Pinkerton investigator flipped his collar up, folded his arms across his chest, and adjusted his posture settle in for the long haul ahead. Compared to his overseas tour in the orient, a ten and a half hour trip up the coast wasn't the worst experience the former soldier had endured.

Just as Booker began his descent into the warm and dark embrace of sleep, the solace and silence of the compartment was immediately dispensed with as the compartment door opened. Sitting up promptly, Booker straightened himself out, and swiveled his head around to ascertain just who had so rudely disturbed his slumber. The man was older, in his mid-to-late fifties by Booker's estimation. He was of average height and possessing a build of someone who was moderately active but not exactly lifting iron girders on a daily basis. The man's hair was a mixture of ashen gray and white going into the 'friendly muttonchops' facial hairstyle he sported. Booker cocked an eyebrow at this unassuming man and watchedhis every movement from the time he entered and began stowing his personal affects all the way through where he sat down in the seat directing facing him. With a content exhale and a surefire grin, the middle aged man settled in to his new arrangements and looked ahead and returned Booker's gaze.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry if I disturbed you. I'm Patrick Kirk." He apologized as he extended his hand in invitation of becoming further acquainted. Booker waved his hand to assuage the man's fear of disruption and reached out to clasp and shake his hand in affirmation.

"Booker DeWitt, no need to worry. Just got settled in myself." The detective replied with a modicum of politeness. This man seemed harmless enough, probably just another working stiff who wanted to get back home.

"Well, still, I do apologize for my intrusion. Oh look it appears we're about to get some more company." The man perked up and turned to face the compartment door.

Booker gave a controlled sigh and turned to greet the final occupants of this increasingly crowded compartment. A thin blonde woman stepped through the threshold first, she wore a black dress with matching black shoes, hat and veil, it became apparent to Booker that this was a woman in mourning or at least had been mourning for some time. Following closely was a younger looking gentleman, if Booker had to guess he was perhaps two or three years younger than himself. He wore a gray suit with a maroon red vest and matching tie beneath. The woman had taken her seat next to Booker while the man took position next to Patrick once he finished stowing their luggage. Within moments, the train horn sounded and with a jolt, the train departed the station.

"Well, isn't this exciting. I haven't been in a full compartment in quite some time. The name's Patrick Kirk, what's yours?" The unassuming man offered as he turned to shake the hand of his newest acquaintance.

"Trenton…Charles Trenton, a pleasure." The man said almost distractedly as he shook Patrick's hand, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Trenton."

"Charles, if you'll please, Mr. Trenton is what people call my father." The man straightened up at making that distinction.

"Well I'll be sure to attend to that distinction Charles, and who might be your traveling companion? Your wife perhaps?" The woman let loose a slight chuckle while Charles coughed, the fairest hint of a blush.

"Goodness I should say not, this is my sister Olivia, I'm escorting her back home where she will be staying with me for a spell." Charles explained carefully.

"…M-my…husband just passed away a week ago now, and I fear I'm rather lost. We moved to the city just the two of us; we had no friends or family to speak of nearby, just Mark and myself. Once he passed, my big brother Charles here saw fit to travel down immediately makes all of the necessary arrangements." The woman softly spoke as she dabbed a kerchief to her eyes upon recalling her late husband's demise. Booker and Patrick shared a look of consternation.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am, I'm...uh...sure he'd be happy knowing you're taken care of..." Booker offered awkwardly as the woman nodded her head with appreciation an turned her attention toward him.

"Thank you Mister?" She started.

"DeWitt…Booker DeWitt, but please call me Booker" He replied with a half grin and went to shake Charles' hand as well.

"Thank you Mister...uh...that is...Booker, I just knew I couldn't leave my sister to face the wolves of the big city alone." Charles humbly replied as he gave a sheepish look to Patrick and then to his sister. Booker paused at that thought, reflecting back upon his own familiar situation, more specifically upon his own brother and the great lengths he had gone to secure his future, the risks that he had taken, and at that moment Booker couldn't help but trail his gaze toward the window and watch as everything around them flew past with ever increasing speed. The cart became eerily quiet for a short time; the stillness had only been broken by a cough given Patrick.

"So Mr. Kirk, was it? What brings you to Maine?" Charles asked in an attempt to once again liven up the atmosphere with polite conversation. Booker could instantly tell Charles was the type of man who wasn't entirely comfortable with long silences. He was a kind looking young man, a noble man, foolish in most people's eyes Booker was certain, but to the detective that sort of attitude was a breath of fresh air and, dare he say, admirable.

"Ah, me, well I'm a Transit Inspector, specifically involved with such things like runaway trains, derailments, manufacturer defects, and the like." He said with prideful smile much to the dismay of those in the cart as they couldn't help be level a stare of worry at the bubbly older man and then amongst themselves.

"What are you…oh goodness gracious, I do apologize if I alarmed anyone? I was in New York attending a conference on new investigative techniques pertaining to the newer models and spotting potentially life-threatening defects. I assure you that this particular locomotive is in peak performing condition, in fact I've never felt safer traveling on the rails than this particular locomotive " Patrick declared, slapping his knee as if to emphasize his steadfast faith in the train.

"Well I don't know about you all, but I know I'll be sleeping a little safer tonight knowing Patrick here has given his seal of approval." Booker offered comically to which he was rewarded with hearty laughs from the occupants of the compartment.

"Well Mister DeWitt, I think we've all shared something about ourselves except for you..tell us, what brings you to Maine?" Charles inquired respectfully, leaning in to ensure he heard each word appropriately. Booker suddenly felt all eyes on him and squirmed slightly at the thought of sharing information with strangers. Give his eyes a defeated roll, Booker settled on providing a steady stream of controlled information; no need to tell them everything.

"Well, I'm a Pinkerton Detective…" Booker started and flashed his badge to the awe of his fellow travelers. "A recent case came up and I'm the 'lucky' guy assigned to track it down. " Booker presented as he returned his badge back into his coat pocket.

"Pinkerton's…pardon me, but aren't you the ones they call in when the workers get…shall we say…_overzealous_?" The young woman asked innocently enough much to the chagrin of her brother.

"Olivia, you can't just say such things!" Charles chastised his younger sister.

"Charles I didn't mean…" Booker took this moment to interject and stop a potential fight from occurring and ruining what could prove to be an otherwise uneventful trip.

"Charles it's fine…no insult was taken where none was implied." Booker nodded with assurance as he turned his attention back to the blonde. "You're right on the money Ms. Olivia, There are agents in the Pinkerton National Detective Agency that are called, on occasion, to _settle _disgruntled workers…but I haven't worked there long enough be a part of that side of the house yet." Booker finished nonchalantly.

"So you're more of the _private _detective type than anything else?" Olivia chimed in again, curiosity leading her to ignore her brother's exasperated glances.

"Something like that ma'am, yeah." Booker responded firmly. The comparison hadn't necessarily been wrong, but association and employment with the Pinkerton Agency offered a few more benefits and a lot more protection than your average, run of the mill private eye.

"Wonderful, perhaps you could help us with our situation…my husband's…that i-is to say…h-his former employer hasn't discussed any settlement with myself or my brother here. Even though they were assuredly responsible, goodness they haven't even release his wages so that we may pay off our creditors. If something doesn't happen soon, I fear I'll be appearing before the courts in a fortnight." The blonde sobbed as her brother moved to comfort her all the while offering Booker a look of apology for her sudden request.

"I'm sorry miss, but that's a little out of my depth." The detective answered glumly. Noting the sudden look of hurt and dejection on the woman's face and looking over at the sorrow on Patrick and Charles face, Booker groaned. He didn't like getting involved with strangers problems', especially if he wasn't getting paid; it was a big reason why he didn't go straight into private investigating, it was less messy when you were being assigned work versus having to make the decision yourself. But the prospect of someone else, as vulnerable as she was, being held up by debt collectors, irked the detective something fierce.

"I can't help you…but I know someone who can…" Booker said carefully, quickly gaining Olivia and her brother's attention all the while Patrick leaned forward, enraptured by this whirlwind of events.

"His name is Jim Milton, he's an attorney and a bit of an investigator himself. I did a 'private job' for the man ohhhhh...a year or so ago now. Let's just say he owes me a favor; give him my name and tell him I sent you specifically, he'll take care of you." Booker continued thoughtfully, he knew Milton was the perfect man for this kind of work. The man always claimed that some day there would be an army of lawyers like him, fighting for the little guy, Booker always laughed and chalked it up to his being a bleeding heart. Still, Booker knew he needed redemption in his life and maybe this was a step in the right direction.

"Oh …my goodness…Booker, thank you so much! Are you sure it isn't too much trouble?" Olivia asked, tears threatening to spill the banks of her eyes.

"Yes, Booker, it's not every day someone tells us to go around spreading their name to solve our problems." Charles offered, his pride showing through his curiosity. Booker could tell Charles wasn't exactly shy from doing a hard days work for a hard days wage, but he also wasn't the type to take charity.

"It's no trouble, really. Hell I'm not doing any work at all, it'd be Jim doing the lion's share…I'm just pointing you in the right direction." Booker retorted sheepishly.

"Well I'll say this'll be quite an interesting story to tell the wife and kids when I get home, my last trip was rather dull if I do say so myself." Patrick mused as he wiped his forehead with a kerchief before replacing it in his inner breast pocket.

"Oh? So you are married Mr. Kirk?" Olivia spoke up.

"Oh yes, quite happily too, if I do say so myself! Let's see this it'll be twenty-seven years come August." Booker and Charles's eyebrows shot up at that revelation and Olivia clapped her hands together with excitement.

"Oh that's wonderful, do you have any pictures of your family?" She asked excitedly.

"But of course, I always keep this one on me. We took it on a family excursion down to West Virginia. It was quite an enjoyable trip all around, we had an absolutely splendid time just the four of us." Patrick replied wistfully as he retrieved a folded up photograph from his inner pocket and presented it to the widow. Having taken it into her hands, she smiled brightly at the happy family. There was Patrick standing proudly with a wide smile on his face, to his right was a woman of similar age, wearing a beautiful dress with two children standing in front of her. A boy looking roughly fourteen years of age and a girl who appeared no older than twelve years of age.

"You have a very beautiful family, Mr. Kirk." The woman said as she handed the photograph back its owner.

"Thank you, I county myself blessed to have them in my life. Lord knows I don't deserve what he has given me…but I guess in the end that's why God gave us grace…at least that's why our local parishioner says." Patrick quipped as gave a longing glance back to the photograph before returning it to his pocket.

"Say Mister DeWitt, do you have any family?" Olivia inquired.

"Not much…a sister and mother back home. I had a brother…" Booker trailed off and Patrick sighed sorrowfully.

"It's alright Booker, I lost a Brother in the Spanish War years back. I did everything I could to convince him otherwise, but he felt it his duty to serve. I take no pleasure in saying that I regret our last in person conversation being a shouting match over his priorities." Patrick said with a downtrodden look about him. "I understand what it's like to lose a brother." Booker could only nod at the man's revelation, it wasn't much but with his own loss so recent, he couldn't offer much more. A stunning silence filled the room once more.

"So there's no special someone in your life then?" The young blonde started up again.

"Olivia, please!" Charles addressed her, throwing his arms up in distress.

"Nope…" Booker paused and measured his next words carefully. "…You could say I just never have the time, given the nature of my work." Booker finished carefully. It had been a quaint little lie, one he'd been telling colleagues, clients, and strangers alike. Booker wasn't about to go spilling his sob stories to everyone with an open ear, hell mplying the loss of his brother was one thing but his love life, his past, _Annabelle, _that was his cross to bear and his alone.

"Funny you should say that, you sound just like my brother here." Olivia quipped, hiding a cheeky smile behind a gloved hand. Her brother merely blushed in response to his sister's insinuation and Patrick clapped his hands with new found vigor.

"I say young man, you're not making time for the fairer sex are you?" Patrick inquired.

"W-Well, I w-wouldn't say that necessarily, it-it's complicated…" Charles tried to explain but his sister cut him off.

"Oh please, what he's trying to say is that he shoves himself into work so he doesn't have to face his feelings for a certain Miss Andrea Barton." The young blonde said giving a dismissive wave of her hand to the plight of her brother.

"Oh do tell!" Patrick urged as he once more leaned forward with rapt intrigue. Booker merely stared at the trio with a slightly confused demeanor, just how the hell he managed to find himself in the present company of these particular strangers was beyond him, but then again this could be God's private joke at his expense.

"Olivia…you're awfully talkative for someone in mourning!" Charles snapped lightly at his active sister. The young woman didn't pay any mind and with huff she responded.

"Well I should think that losing my husband has put my priorities in order…it doesn't change the fact that life is short and precious. No one is promised tomorrow, it's a gift from the Lord above and could be snatched away like that!" She said with a snap of her fingers to emphasize her point. "You either make the decision now or live knowing that you might have lost something important forever for the rest of your life!"

Charles merely nodded and apologized to his sister for snapping at her so abruptly. Patrick, once again, entered into the conversation and began discussing the circumstances surrounding his and his wife's own introduction. As the trio began to discuss various opinions concerning introductions to loved ones, Booker turned his attention back to the view beyond the window. He couldn't help but reflect on Olivia's words. Something about her conviction spoke to him on a personal level, perhaps upon his return it would be good for him to start looking for ways to improve his life, after all no one _is _promised a tomorrow. Of course the detective held great doubts about how well that endeavor would turn out, he felt completely and utterly undeserving of any love and affection in his life, it was easier to live alone and _stay _alone. There wasn't any worry of hurt or loss when all he had to worry about was himself.

"My goodness is that the time?!" The jovial older man exclaimed as he retrieved a pocket watch from his jacket. "My word, I'm starving, would anyone care to join me on a walk over to the dining cart for some supper?" He asked hopefully. Charles and Olivia looked between each other and nodded happily.

"Splendid, how about you Booker? Booker? Mr. DeWitt?" Charles inquired of the detective, who had been so caught up on thought up until this point that he hadn't even realized the older man had addressed him. Coming back to the present moment, Booker perked up and responded.

"Uh…yeah sure, you guys go on ahead, I'll follow up shortly. I'm gonna light up a cigarette." His companions nodded and slowly filed out of the compartment one by one until it was just Booker left within.

Booker retrieved a cigarette from his breast pocket and similarly retrieved a matchbook as well. Striking the match against the small booklet, a flame quickly emerged and was brought to the end of the cigarette. Once he was satisfied the it had been lit appropriately, Booker snuffed out the match and tossed the burnt wood into a nearby ashtray. Taking in a few short drags, Booker instantly felt the calming affect the tobacco had on him. He wouldn't say he was addicted to the stuff, but they certainly did help take the edge off, particularly these days. Booker heard the compartment door open and shut; a chill filled the room not soon after, but Booker didn't mind, his old coat was more than suitable to keep him warm. Not bothering to acknowledge newest occupant Booker maintained his gaze outside.

"You know, for a soldier as decorated as you are and a detective with a reputation as yours, you aren't very observant." A dark voice darkly chuckled in front of him. Booker's cigarette fell from his lips as he noticed a darkly robed figure sitting before him with a sinister smile. Booker drew his Mauser instantly and leveled a deadly glare at the fellow now sitting before him.

"You've got ten seconds to explain just who the hell you are before I paint that back wall with your brains." DeWitt threatened with his finger hovering dangerously before the trigger, ready to pull at a moments notice. The dark figure merely laughed in spite of Booker's threats.

"Oh Mister DeWitt, if I wanted to harm you I would have killed you just as soon as you stepped foot on this train and there would have been not you could have done to stop me. Now please, put that away, you're insulting both of us." The mysterious figure implored as he rested his hands upon his lap. Booker tightened the grip on his pistol and hardened his glare. The man before him merely shrugged in response.

"Mister DeWitt, Booker, I'm here on behalf of our mutual benefactor to serve as a…_reminder." _Booker raised an eyebrow and cocked his head briefly.

"And what, pray tell, am I in need of reminding?" He shot back. Out of the corner of his eye, Booker realized he could see his breath with each word. Not to be phased by this startling discovery, Booker maintained eye contact and a kept his finger ready to pull the trigger at a moments notice.

"I'm hear to remind you that no matter where you go, no matter where you run, _she _can locate you in a moments notice and snuff you out in a blink of an eye…but take it from me, she won't be coming for _you _first." The man finished as he cast his eyes down upon his hand, as if to look for something far more interesting than the conversation he was having with the anxious detective. Booker sneered at the man's thinly veiled threat and was about to respond when he heard the compartment door opening again; it was Olivia.

"I'm sorry Mister DeWitt, I realized I forgot my…Mister DeWitt, why do you have your pistol drawn?"

Having only taken his eyes off the intruder for a moment, Booker quickly returned his attention to the seat in front of him only to find it surprisingly empty. At a loss for words, the seasoned veteran holstered his pistol and stood up right.

"I-I think I need to eat something, 'been a while since I had something half decent and I think it's getting to me." He sheepishly offered and prayed the woman wouldn't inquire further. Fortunately for DeWitt, the woman could only give him a curious stare before grabbing her hand bag and ushering for Booker to follow. Before he left the room, Booker gave the small area one last scan to verify he hadn't been going crazy but there wasn't a single sign that he had been anything but alone. Dragging his hand across his face, he closed the compartment door and quickly caught up to the blond woman.

Dinner had been a polite affair; Booker had eaten more than his fair share. After all he had barely eaten any _real_ food in weeks and he didn't know what to expect from wherever he was headed, but he knew to take advantage of a good opportunity while it lasted. Of course there was continued pleasant conversation between the four travelers, tales of various exploits on jobs, various goals, stories of meeting significant others, and other similar experiences were shared and by the time the group had decided to retire, each felt a little more at ease with their fellow travelers and felt a little closer to their fellow man in the end.

Olivia, Patrick, and Charles had quickly fallen asleep but for Booker, sleep wouldn't come that easy. He hoped that getting some fresh air would do the trick but we was still wide awake, alert, and panicked. DeWit even lit another cigarette for good measure, but he was still on edge from his encounter with the vanishing man or man-like creature. To put it bluntly, Booker had been shaken to his core. Whoever his latest _client _was, she had some serious connections and probably wouldn't rest until she had his head on a platter or had what she wanted, whichever came first in the end.

After spending about a half hour outside, standing by the railing in idle contemplation of recent events, the detective heard the tell tale sound of thunders and looked off to the sky ahead and spotted a front of storms directly in the path of the locomotive. At this point, Booker figured it would be best to get inside before he found himself completely drenched by the eventual downpour that was to come. Silently, Booker made his way inside the compartment and soon situated himself in the most comfortable position available, closed his eyes, and made an earnest attempt to get some rest before they arrived in Portland.

* * *

Booker awoke with a start to find himself in strange and apparently foreign surroundings. He wasn't sitting next to Olivia or across from Patrick anymore, in fact he was sitting on a park bench in the middle of what appeared to be clear night in what soon became obvious to the detective as being New York City…except it wasn't any sort of New York he recognized. There were buildings far taller than he'd ever seen, automobiles parked on the street that looked completely alien in design, and then of course there were the lights and the strange signs that shifted on screens of light. In an attempt to ascertain just what had occurred since he fell asleep, Booker jogged down to the street corner where he found a banner wrapped around the edge of a building which displayed a curious message.

_**Happy New Year, New York City – 1985**_

"That's impossible…1985…that can't be right…it's 1912." Booker silently said to himself. Looking around Booker was astounded, he couldn't believe his eyes, he in the _future_. Could any of this be possible? Before he could make any further sense of the situation a massive fire ball collided with the north face of the building directly to his right. Not long after, several more fireballs collided with fantastic force into the buildings around him. Air raid sirens came alive throughout the city and not long after, the entire cityscape appeared to come under seige from some unseen malevolent force in the cloudy night sky above.

Something within Booker DeWitt's being screamed at him to get to the top of one of these buildings and scan the sky for the cause. Booker looked around and noticed a building across the street had its front doors propped open. Booker immediately tore across the pavement, barely dodging a explosive fireball that would have surely decimated him had he not decided to move in that instant. Taking to the 'Emergency Stairwell' as it was so duly marked, Booker climbed each flight of stares until he arrived at the rooftop entry. Having kept his momentum, Booker slammed into the metallic door and stood high upon the roof of the building and looked out into the dark and cloud sky and what he saw petrified him where he stood.

High in the clouds was a city emerging out of seemingly thin air, with each segment being propelled by the same foreign engines he had seen in dreams before, with lighter-than-air craft of all sorts of strange design taking flight across the the big apple. There were several War Zeppelins' he recognized but the armament they were carrying was unlike any he had ever seen. Each appeared to fire multiple volleys of the destructive fireballs into the streets below; their impacts were met with horrific screams and louder alarm klaxons. Booker watched as several pod-like structures fell from flying city and its attacking force, some had even fallen into the street below. The metallic structures opened with tremendous force and revealed mechanical beasts armed with machine guns that charged out in all directions, taking fire at every living thing they came across.

Booker was horrified by the site before him, the level of death and destruction had gone beyond anything he'd ever seen, dream or reality be damned. Had this truly been happening or was this a vision of what was to come? He pat himself down to realize he wasn't armed anymore, so there wasn't anything he could do to help stop the carnage. He went to leave to get help when heard a soft voice call out from across the rooftop.

"Booker…come here…" It was a woman's voice, older, worn, but unmistakably female. Booker was drawn to the voice, almost seduced by its serenity and abandoned his effort to retreat to the street below. Cautiously, he approached the shadowy figure who's arm was outstretched toward him. Coming just outside of arms length, Booker looked at this mysterious person and found ever fiber of his being was screaming at him to trust her and Booker was nothing if not a man of instinct. Without further delay, the detective reached out and grabbed the woman's hand and was pulled to stand at the edge of the building to watch the carnage below in utter horror.

"You see all of this, Booker? You have to stop this, you have to make sure that _none _of this comes to pass…promise me Booker." He turned his head to meet this woman and he was shocked at what he saw. There before him stood the same woman from his dreams these past few months, but she was older, more tired, more worn, as if she had been through hell and back.

"Booker…_promise me." _She ended with a whisper as she closed her eyes and leaned in his chest, as if the weight of the world had sapped her strength.

"I-I promise." He assured her as he brought a hand to her cheek which elicited a brief smile from the solemn woman.

"Thank you Booker, now it's time to wake up." She said as she leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

"What?" Came Booker's only response before a blinding white light enveloped his vision and he felt as if we were being forcibly pulled away from this world.

* * *

"Mister DeWitt….Mister DeWitt….Mister DeWitt…oh good you're finally waking up." It was Patrick's voice that Booker's attention latched onto as he slowly opened his eyes and returned to the realm of reality. The detective sat up and began blinking profusely to help his eyes adjust to the variation of light. Once Booker found he could see clearly again, he looked around to see three sets of eyes looking at him with intrigue and worry.

"S-sorry, I must have been sleeping harder than I thought." Booker apologized and looked at his watch, noting it was 7:05am.

"Indeed, we've been trying to wake you for the past ten minutes or so now, you kept muttering the most peculiar things in your sleep." Charles said over the din of the heavy rainfall pattering against the windows and the thunder echoing throughout the area.

"Oh…huh…must've been something I ate last night then, strange dreams is all." The war veteran suggested to which Patrick nodded with concerned agreement.

"Hmm, well I suppose this is where we depart then." Patrick said somberly, as he stood up followed by Booker and the others. Each began to shake hands and wish each other the best as they began to depart the compartment and head out onto the platform.

The rain came down in droves without any appearance of letting up; to call this inclement weather was right on the money as far as Booker was concerned. Popping his collar up to protect himself from the rain as best he could, Booker stepped off and crossed the platform over to the nearest information kiosk to get a lay of the area, find his bearings, and ultimately dtermine just where he needed to go from here. Fortunately for the detective he didn't have to search very far as he was quickly spotted and approached by a man who held the appearance of an upper class driver holding up a paper sign with black letters reading _**DeWitt. **_Stepping up to meet the man, Booker extended his hand in an invitation for introductions.

"I'm Booker DeWitt, who might you be?" He asked the smiling uniformed man.

"Philip Fontaine, sir, at your service. I was told to meet you hear and drive you up to a harbor about thirty minutes north of here." The driver responded as he ushered DeWitt over to his vehicle that lay in wait for the pair.

"Who exactly told you I'd be here?"

"They didn't say, they just paid my employer for my services and told me be here at this exact time waiting for you." Philip said as he unlocked the vehicle and ignited the engine. As they drove away from the platform and headed through the streets of Portland, Booker brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. The job was getting worse by the minute, normally he would have been elated to have a personal driver pick him up after such a long trip, yet Booker felt as if every ounce of control he might have had over the situation had been tossed out the window. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know who this girl was or why she was so important, and he didn't know what lay in store for him _after _retrieving her. At this point he wouldn't have been surprised to find out this was a mob job for him and that upon delivery he'd find himself in a shallow grave somewhere in upstate New York. On top of it all, given that his dreams were becoming more and more real to him with each passing night, the detective slowly felt as if his mind was being run through a strainer. Still he had a job to do, people were relying on him, and he wasn't about to screw this up.

By the time Booker arrived at his destination, the weather had taken a slight turn for the better. The storm was still upon them, the rain still fell from the sky, and thunder and lightening fought their age old battle across the sky, but at least it was raining only slightly less. Booker pulled some bills out of his wallet and tipped the driver for his services before stepping out of the vehicle and watching as the man drove off and out of sight.

"Ah, Mister DeWitt, glad you could make it! Please follow us."

"Indeed, if you'll follow us we'll be sure to disembark post haste."

"Time is off the essence after all."

"Indeed, the essence of time is at hand."

Booker turned around and noticed a pair, male and female, dressed from head to tow in yellow fisherman's rainwear. Not wanting to stand out in the rain like a stray dog any longer, Booker quickly stepped up and followed the strange pair across the dock to a modest looking rowboat. Taking one look out into the tumultuous sea and back at the relatively small craft, Booker leveled a look of disbelief at the pair.

"You sure this is a wise idea?" He questioned freely.

"Of course, it's not as if anything's going to happen before you arrive." The male responded as he cast off one of the lines and helped his female counterpart onto the rowboat. Once she was securely on-board, he offered his hand up to the distressed detective.

"Come now, Mister DeWitt, we're burning daylight." The man plead as the rain continued to fall. Booker looked back at the empty street behind him and then to the open ocean ahead and sighed in defeat.

"_Well, no point in turning back now." _He thought as he took the man's hand and stepped into the boat and promptly sat down. Without further delay, the man took the oars in each hand and propelled the craft away from the dock and off to the third location.

The initial leg of the journey was, for Booker, taken in silence. The pair had idly chatted about the most inane topics while the detective tuned them out in favor of internally analyzing his latest and most bizarre dream. The girl he'd been seeing for months was so much older than he'd ever seen her in the past six months, but then again these were dreams so they probably should be taken with a grain of salt. But then what did that say about the city, it looked so different, not even in his wildest imaginations could he have envisioned such things on his own.. Then there was the promise, just how was he going to keep that promise. All of these thoughts were swirling around in Booker's head, so much so that he was only brought out of his reverie by the latest interchange between the odd couple.

"I've made it very clear that I don't believe in this exercise." The woman snapped.

"What, the rowing?" The man responded back half bemused and half curious.

"No, of course not, I'd imagine that rowing is wonderful exercise."

"Then what?"

"This futile attempt at mystery and suspense."

"Dear, if we were to just reveal everything then that would change the outcome of this whole endeavor in unfathomable ways."

"Indeed, but by withholding such information, even for a moment longer, we could be affecting the outcome."

Booker was thoroughly baffled by these two strangers, it was as if they were speaking in their own private dialect of the English language, entertaining a subject only they could grasp. Still they were, for lack of better word, Booker's only guides to wherever it was they were taking him.

"Hey, erm, excuse me, how much longer?" Booker tried to interject but the pair instantly launched into a conversation concerning the merits of rowing and who's responsibility it was to row the boat. Booker's patience was stretched thin already so when the woman had brought up the point that maybe he should be rowing, he stole the opportunity to interrupt.

"Look guys, as much I would _love _to hear how this one plays out, would any of you two mind telling me just where we're going and when the hell we'll get there?" The two merely blinking at the detective, quickly shared a look, and returned their attention to them.

"Mister DeWitt, if you had been paying attention you'd see that we have arrived." The woman quickly replied without an ounce of emotion as she motioned for the detective ahead. Booker looked up in surprise and noticed they had indeed arrived at a light house, out in what appeared to be the middle of the ocean. The man maneuvered the rowboat in position next to the dock where Booker spied a ladder that would allow any passenger to come ashore.

"Here we are Mister DeWitt, if you'll head inside you'll find the answers you seek." The man said softly.

"Much obliged." The detective responded as he stood up, careful not to tip the boat, and proceeded to climb the ladder and stand tall on the deck. As he climbed up he could hear them discussing their departure and whether or not they should tell him when they would be returning, but Booker didn't pay them much attention as he made his way up. Reaching the dock, Booker turned around and noticed the man had already begun rowing away from the dock.

"HEY…IS SOMEONE SUPPOSED TO MEET ME HERE?!" Booker shouted over the wind and waves.

"I SHOULD CERTAINLY HOPE SO!" The man responded in kind.

"IT SEEMS LIKE AN AWFUL PLACE TO BE STRANDED!" The woman added much to Booker's dismay.

"_Great, DeWitt, just great, you follow two loons to some light house in the middle of the damn Atlantic and you have no idea if you're even supposed to be here." _He thought angrily as he rushed across the dock and up the stairs leading into the lighthouse. Booker squinted as he noticed a piece of paper folded in between the door and the frame. Retrieving the paper, Booker unfolded it and read the stark black letters, taking note of the bloody stains upon the parchment.

_**DeWitt,**_

_**Bring me the girl, and wipe away your debt. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!"**_

Booker read the note and growled, this mystery woman was really started to get to him. The perturbed detective crumpled the paper and tossed it to the side and slowly opened the massive door the lead into the lighthouse. At first everything was too dark to see within the dimly lit room, but as Booker's eyes adjusted he noticed a basin at the foot of the pillar in the center of the room with a framed sign above reading: _Of Thy Sins, I Shall Wash Thee._

Taking several steps forward, Booker read the sign and looked down into the basin noticing his disheveled and unkempt appearance. It was the first time in days or maybe even a week he'd realized that he hadn't given to much care to his appearance since his undertaking his previous job, he made a mental note to rectify that matter and drew his eyes back up to the sign and scoffed.

"_Yeah right, good luck with that, pal." _

Booker ascended the wooden staircase as his only choice at this point was to go up and figure out what, if anything, was at the top of the structure. As Booker climbed the staircase his ears perked up to the sound of a familiar tune. _Old Time Relgion, _a gospel tune, whoever lived here must have been big into religion; hopefully that wouldn't present a problem when he finally met the old codger. Shaking off the feelings of uncertainty, Booker continued his climb and made his way up to the second level whereupon he was treated to a grizzly sight.

A still and bloodied man sat lifelessly in chair against the far wall, propped up by ropes around his mid-section and illuminated by single light source from above. Booker figured the poor sould was probably the caretaker of the lighthouse. Them more the detective looked over the man, the more his stomach churned in a mixture of regret, anger, and revulsion. The poor bastard's head was covered with a blood soaked burlap sack and he hada sign hanging from his neck that read _**Don't Disappoint Me, **_each letter scrawled in a red that bore eerie similarity to the blood on his body, the floor, and the wall behind him. Before the man's lifeless corpse was a stool with a metallic tray with knives unlike any Booker had seen before, each stained with red blood.

"Shit…this lady isn't screwing around…YOU MADE YOUR POINT!" He ended with a shout to rooftop, hoping wherever that psychotic lady was that she heard his cry. The disturbed detective straightened his jacket and shook off the terror instilled by the tortured dead body before him, Booker proceeded toward the staircase to the opposite end of the room and noted a similar sign to the one downstairs. _In The New Eden, Shall I Plant Thee. _Upon reading this Booker couldn't help but experience a deep sense of guilt that threatened to burst from his chest. this man had probably been some innocent devout follower of faith who had been happy to live out his days alone out here on the sea and would have kept on living had it not been for the deal he made with the lady. Giving a deep sight of despair, DeWitt returned his attention to the steps ahead and quickly climbed the steps and found himself outside in the rain once more.

To his immediate right, Booker looked out and saw the tumultuous waves forming and cresting all around the lighthouse. The clouds were still a great deal higher than the structure, but still Booker couldn't help but feel in awe at just how high up he was by comparison. He swiveled his gaze leftward and instantly noticed an odd statue of an eagle swooping over three bells with symbols of a scroll, a key, and a sword on each of them. They looked vaguely familiar to Booker, though he couldn't immediately recall from where until he gave some more thought, then an epiphany.

"_W-wait, wait a moment, the card, I've seen these before." _Booker thought as he retrieved the card he'd kept in his jacket pocket, the one he'd received in that ornate cigar box back at his apartment. He noticed the scroll had a numeral one next to it, the key and scroll had two each written next to them. The war veteran reached out and rang the first bell once, and the other two twice in succession and waited. Nothing happened. Booker waited a little longer, and still nothing happened. He rolled his eyes and turned to hold onto the rail facing the ocean in frustration. Before Booker could audibly express himself, a massive horn sounded and reverberated for miles around and a strange red light permeated the entire area, seemingly keeping intandem with the sounds.

"What in the world?" Booker muttered to himself as he watched the intricate display of light and sound. It was as if whatever code he had entered had started a set of actions and reactions between the lighthouse and the sky above. Booker was actually awed by the display and was a little saddened to see it end, that was until the ornate statue behind him began ringing incessantly. Turning round to figure out what new chain of events he had set into motion, Booker watched as the bell assembly folder up and sank into the floor below as the light fixture within the main glass chamber was pulled up into a chamber within the sealing and a red leather chair emerged from the floor. Cocking an eyebrow, Booker stepped into the now rather empty empty room and looked around for any indication as to how to shook the rain from his person, and began to walk about the room to see if he could find any indication, aside from the elaborate chair, on how to proceed ahead. Unfortunately, the room was bereft clues, which left DeWitt, to once again level a gaze back toward the chair at the center of the room.

"Well…looks like you want me to sit your fancy chair…fine, not as if I haven't been sitting on my ass for hours on end." He directed to the empty room and shook his head. Booker firmly believed he was losing his mind at this rate. Resigned to this menial task, DeWitt sat down in the surprisingly confortable chair. At first nothing happened, much to Booker's confusion. Just as he went to vacate the seat, two metallic straps emerged seemingly from thin air and, within the blink of an eye, restrained Booker's arms to the chair as the floor around him opened up and slats of metal arose from the openings and began to connect with others forming a small craft. As all of this happened, a recorded woman's voice began to play within the chamber.

_Make yourself ready pilgrim!_

_The bindings are there as a safeguard._

The machinery seemed to pause and whirl, as if a malfunction had occurred. As Booker struggled to free himself from this ungodly contraption, the seat he occupied suddenly pivoted forward and Booker soon found himself looking directly down in what he could only ascertain to be an engine bay. But the engines themselves were strange, almost like the one's he'd seen in his dreams. But the man didn't have time to think about that as his weapon had fallen from the confines of his hip holster and fell to the grates below as the powerful engines roared to life. Cursing himself mentally at this point, he had realized he didn't snap his gun back into place after his encounter on the train.

"No…no, no, no, shit…gotta…get…out…of …here….Damn it!" Booker struggled to break free as the chair swiveled back into an up-right position.

_Ascension in the count of five!_

"What?! No…oh no, oh hell no!"

_count of four!_

"Gotta get out of here, Christ, what the hell is this!"

_Three_

_Two _

_One_

_Ascension….Ascension…_

In an instant the newly constructed craft took flight and Booker felt his being leave the safety of the earth and could only peer through the front facing window in new found horror t as his worst fears were confirmed; the war veteran was being launched out of the lighthouse and upward into the sky. Within moments the voice started up again.

_Five –Thousand Feet_

"Alright Booker, alright…just gotta stay calm, stay calm.

_Ten – Thousand Feet_

Booker could feel the momentum of the craft increase, which also brought an immense change in pressure as Booker suddenly felt as if every bone in his body were being dragged toward the floor. His futile attempts to escape continued as the craft approached the cloud line, but soon enough the man's determination quickly gave way to panic.

_Fifteen – Thousand Feet_

Booker was almost at the point of passing out now as the craft breached the cloud line, yet just before he reached his breaking point he felt the acceleration of the craft drop tremendously and suddenly his vision was blinded by light. The detective shut his eyes quickly as he was unable to shield himself from the blinding light that shone through the window. Slowly he opened his eyes to see why the craft had slowed its ascent and in that moment everything became as clear as day. Every thought, every effort, every fear, had all given way to awe before him. There before his very eyes was the city he had been dreaming about, the city he believed was only a figment of his imagination, a city that sparked a long lost memory from his childhood. It was the City of Columbia.

_Hallelujah!_

Of course, Booker was absolutely dumbfounded by the sight before him. He should have known he wasn't crazy, he remembered as a child hearing about the famed city in the sky. How could he have forgotten? But all too quickly Booker remembered why he had forgotten the seemingly impossible city in sky, _Peking. _

He shoved those memories aside as he took in the splendor of the city in the heavens. Before his very eyes stood the towering statue statue of the angel Columbia, probably the most familiar sight of city if ever there was one. Booker instinctively knew that the treasure he sought, the girl he was after, was there and no where else. Looking about the area, he spotted multiple segments of city all around, it was impressive to see how large the city had truly grown, easily dwarfing the zeppelins that traveled betwixt the clouds.

All at once Booker felt the craft slowly begin to descend from high and saw that it was being directed toward landing pad that sat in front of what appeared to be a welcome center and cathedral. Focusing his eyes ahead, Booker watched as four men wearing white religious garb emerged from the large structure and made their way toward the landing pad, their hands clasped in prayer as they directed their gaze upon his flying craft. Booker didn't know what to expect from these people, for all he knew they were here to kill him the minute they got the metal craft open. His heart rate increased as he realized just how precarious his position was, he had some money on him, no weapon, and no means of escape. At this point it was clear that the next few moments would decided his fate and there was not anything Booker DeWitt could do to change that fact. And so, for the first time in years, Booker DeWitt closed his eyes and began to pray.

* * *

**Endnote: Goodness this was a very long chapter, originally I intended everything here to be split up between three chapters but seeing as this was labor day weekend and people seem to be liking this storty and continue to follow along, I figured I would give you all something nice.**

**I tried something a little different with this chapter so I do apologize if it's not "up to snuff" as it were. I really hope you all like it though. I made sure to give it a little extra attention given the overall length and amount of material covered, so I do hope I was able to capture all of the big errors.**

**Next chapter will see our hero meeting the Lutece Twins formally and taking a much needed stroll around Columbia. **

**Until then, this is TheLifeLongEditor signing off!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Path To Redemption

**Chapter IV: The Path To Redemption**

**Author's Note: So here we are, Booker's first steps into (or onto depending on how you approach the situation) the City of Columbia. I've been thinking about how I wanted to tackle this particular chapter since before I started the story so I hope you all enjoy. **

**Also on a side note, I did update my profile to reflect the update schedule, so there's that.**

**Disclaimer: As per usual, I don't own Bioshock Infinite that belongs to Ken Levine and whomever holds the rights now that Irrational Games isn't around anymore.**

* * *

The foreign mechanical craft came to a soft landing before the massive structure and with the blink of an eye, the four religious gentlemen were upon it. Booker looked about the metallic walls of the craft as the industrial sound of interlocking gears filled the small capsule. Seconds later the clasps that held Bookers arms retracted back into the chair and the forward facing wall of the craft slid open, allowing for the small craft to be flooded by the warm embrace of the the bright burning sun which had no longer obscured by the clouds and rain as it had been on the surface.

With extreme caution, Booker emerged from the aerial craft and stepped heartily upon solid ground, or what he had assumed to be the most solid the ground one could find in a floating city. The moment the young detective cleared the craft, each of the four robed men were upon him, their faces each carrying warm and welcoming smiles. Two of the gentlemen in particular were carrying items in their hands. Booker's vision was still a little hazy from the rapid departure from the surface, but it didn't appear they were carrying any harmful instruments.

"Welcome friend…to heaven on earth…or the next best thing 'till judgement day." The man to Booker's immediate left welcomed heartily as he offered Booker a soft white towel which he gingerly took hold with a subtle nod of thanks. The young man proceeded to use the impossibly soft implement to remove the pockets of excess water that had developed due to his exposure to the harsh elements. Booker returned the soft towel to the holy man who gave a soft 'thank you' before taking a step back to allow the frazzled detective more personal space.

"I believe what my colleague is trying to say is, welcome to Columbia. I am Preacher Anthony." The holy man extended his arm out in friendship to which Booker reached out and accepted with cautious optimism. All at once Booker felt that his fear of being shot where he stood had been more or less unwarranted.

Booker attempted to speak but found his throat incredibly dry and incapable of forming proper sounds. Having noticed the younger man's dilemma, the obvious leader of the four motioned for his other colleague to step forward. Just then the man direct right offered up a cup of strange design, filled with what he could only assume was water. Thinking back to the expression he had heard in the marines, 'when in rome', the former soldier took the cup in his own hand and thanked the polite gentleman for his offering and took his first sip. The young investigator was shocked at how fresh the water tasted; it was definitely far more pure than any he had back in New York. Having finished the glass with gusto, Booker wiped the excess liquid from his lips with his sleeve and returned glass to its original owner.

"Booker…Booker DeWitt." Was all the detective could muster as he found his voice once more, the water having effectively refreshed and recovered Booker from his jarring flight from the surface below.

"Well Mister DeWitt, it's not often that we receive visitors from that particular avenue, but Columbia welcomes your escape from the heathen world below with welcome arms. You've met Preachers' Brown and Charles…" Anthony said as he motioned to the holy men carrying the towel and water respectively, to which Booker offered a quiet 'pleased to meet you' as they nodded their head in recognition of their meeting of the new fellow.

"…This is Preacher Daniel, he arrived here fairly recently from the surface and has adapted quite nicely." Anthony continued as the man known as Daniel approached and shook Booker's hand with ferver.

"You'll like it here in Columbia, it may take some getting used to, but I assure you that you'll never find a more God fearing people than up here on high." Booker nodded politely, but internally held feelings of skepticism. Religious or not, in Booker's experience everybody had an angle.

"Well why don't we get you inside and help you right alongyour way? If you'll follow us we'll be certain to see you on your way to glory." Preacher Anthony offered with a gesture for Booker to follow along with the others toward the pristine chapel.

"Well…by all means, lead the way." Booker said and promptly followed the four robed men down the steps from the landing pad and through the large wooden doors into the impressive brick building of worship. Booker's eyes quickly adjusted to the light and noticed they were in a large hall of worship. Men and women wearing similar robes to the Preachers' he just met were strewn about, siting amongst various pews all singing in chorus.

"_In the joyous days of childhood_ _Oft they told of wondrous love_.

_Pointed to the dying Saviour;_ _Now they dwell with Him above."_

The melodic and harmonious voices of song nearly brought Booker to tears, whomever these people were it was clear they held a concrete belief. It had been quite a few years since the detective last set foot in a place of worship, but he knew he had never heard such heartfelt song such as this in his entire life. Booker looked about the room and saw that not one member of the congregation stirred from their worship at neither their entrance nor their journey through the center aisle. Impressed by their steadfast worship, Booker's eyes wandered up to the rafters and gazed upon four beautiful blue banners with golden words sewn into the expensive and flawless fabric.

_Why Would He Send His Savior Unto Us_

_If We Will Not Raise A Finger For Our Own Salvation_

_And Though We Did Not Deserve His Mercy_

_He Has Led Us To This New Eden._

Booker reflected upon these words with great care, thinking about his own wretched soul in that moment. He could make every claim in the world that he did what he could to redeem the kinds of things he'd done, but had he really tried? Or did he just quell his doubts with such thoughts because he, himself, didn't believe he was redeemable. He certainly didn't believe he deserved any sort of mercy from the Lord above, but perhaps, just perhaps, this was God giving him an actual chance. Maybe…

Booker sequestered such thoughts for further examination at a later date as his eyes scanned the ornate stained glass windows about the walls letting in beautiful combination of light and color fill the room in a glorious display of holy reverence. To his left the first window illustrated a man, with a long flowing black beard and slicked back hair wearing a blue coat, pointing up to a golden city in the sky as men, women, and children basked in his glow with expressions of awe and worship. It became apparent to Booker that whomever this towering figure was, he held some importance in the religious community at the very least.

The inquisitive detective looked to the next window which depicted a beautiful brunette woman looking down with an almost solemn gaze. It was impossible for Booker to determine what such a refined and, dare he say, attractive looking woman would have been sad about, but it was clear that she definitely wanted for nothing given the beautiful dress she had been depicted as wearing. Something about this woman's appearance struck a chord deep within the young man. Her eyes spoke to Booker, as if yearning for a freedom she knew se would never posses. In a broad stone banner beneath the window, etched words declared proudly:

"_And In My Womb Shall Grow The Seed Of The Prophet."_

"The 'Seed of the Prophet', huh?" Booker muttered to himself, careful not to draw too much attention to him as well as not to disturb the worship.

The young detective felt a stiff breeze come over him and in seconds Booker felt as if his entire body had frozen solid directly in place. He felt his head tilt upward outside of his control and his gaze rose up above the windows to spot a balcony high above the room wherein he noted several figures dressed in deep black robes; four of them wore strangely detailed masks of some sort. It was difficult to make out just what they were, but from a distance he could see they were definitely masks of curious design. In the center of these four black robed figures stood an older man wearing highly embellished black vestments and a red zucchetto atop his head; Booker hadn't be a member of the Catholic faith but from what he little knew, he suspected this particular man to be some sort of cardinal in the church. As Booker met the man's own eyes, he felt the strange coldness that had previously overtaken him pierce his heart, as if all of the warmth and life were slowly being stripped away and replaced with something dark and sinister. The older man up above gave a sinister sneer and opened his eyes wide and in a flash the hellish freeze vanished. Booker blinked rapidly and noticed the that neither the man nor the four figures around him were standing on the balcony. Shivering with a sliver of fright, the former recomposed himself enough to realize he had fallen behind and quickly moved to catch up to the entourage, careful not to let his heavy footfalls disturb the hymn.

Booker shook his head and cleared his mind of the startling incident and found his eye wandering to another stained glass artwork which depicted the same man as the other, only this time holding a small brunette baby in his arms. The baby had striking sapphire-blue eyes and gazed curiously up at the man, apparently her father, who returned the look with a warm and gentle smile. Standing behind him was the same woman in the other windows, only in this instance Booker noted she had what he recognized as a halo illustrated around her head. Booker swallowed solemnly, the woman, whoever she was, no longer lived. Below the window, another concrete banner read:

_The Lamb_

_The Future of Our City_

"Hm, well that's certainly…something." Booker observed as he thought about the responsibility imbued upon this infant. Thinking about such a monumental weight being saddled onto a child, Booker found himself rather glad to have been dealt a humble upbringing by comparison.

As the group approached the end of the long aisle, Preacher Anthony gave a motion for his fellows and Booker to head for a door to the right hand side of the room. As he followed the preachers, Booker turned his head and his eyes befell the last stained glass window. The intricate artwork depicted a young woman with short chocolate brown hair, wearing a conservative blue dress. Booker stopped at the beauty and innocence portrayed by the image in the window. She appeared to be comforting two children at either side of her while folks all around looked upon her in high reverence. Directly behind this beautiful object of affection stood an intimidating statue of the same man in the other two windows, depicted to be holding a statue cast firmly toward the heavens.

Booker had no idea what any of these images meant; seed of the prophet, the lamb, who was that poised woman, who was this stern and obviously worshiped man, and the young woman, she looked familiar as well, but Booker couldn't put his finger on it. Then there was that strange cardinal fellow watching in the wings, it was as if he could peer directly into Booker's soul and terrorize his spirit from within. One thing was clear, Columbia was definitely nothing like he'd expected, and he hadn't even seen any of the city' proper.

_You remember songs of heaven_

_Which you sang with childish voice._

_Do you love the hymns they taught you,_

_Or are songs of earth your choice?_

Father Brown opened the door and motioned for the rest to follow, and as soon as the last of their little party had stepped through the door, each turned to face Booker as he took one step down the winding stone staircase. He paused when he noticed that none were making any movement to follow.

"So, are we supposed to go down or what?" Booker asked, careful to measure the level of his voice in such an enclosed space.

"You must follow the path from here." Father Daniel spoke up politely with that same smile as before.

"We have shown you the way, but only you can choose to follow from here." Father Anthony said with a bow. He gave each of his fellows a look and they once more retreated behind the door that led them to the staircase and just as soon locked the door behind them.

"Down the rabbit hole we go." Booker said with a defeated sigh as he descended the stone steps. There was little light offered by the small yet ornate stained windows, three of which to be precise, each depicting a solitary image with the Latin designation below. A sword, a key, and a scroll each individually adorned the windows, but meant nothing to detective as he had very little context as to why such mundane objects would be held in high esteem.

Coming to the bottom of the staircase, the Pinkerton agent left the stairs and stepped into a flooded chamber. Candles floated at the top of the water, offering a dim light to an otherwise dark entryway. Booker stepped across the drenched path. through the antechamber, and into the larger room ahead. Booker was somewhat concerned at the volume of water which seemed to slowly pour across the floor from multiple avenues. The room was surprisingly warm given the amount of water and statues of angels in prayer surrounded the detective's path. Clearly there were other avenues into this particular room; in Booker's observation this must have meant that there were other chapels similar to the one he had been led through, which then meant that there might even had been similar landing pads for crafts from the same or similar lighthouses. Booker's thoughts were interrupted as he made his way closer to the back center of the room, wading through the now knee-deep water, a boisterous preacher delivered a powerful sermon to his flock.

"So it is why with earnest and honest hearts and the deepest of devotions that we turn our attention away from the splendorous gifts that the Lord has bestowed and take it upon OURSELVES to recommit our souls to his loving embrace…it is why we remember to recommit ourselves to the PROPHET, Father Comstock, who led us here to this brave new Eden!" The preacher bellowed to all who might hear. The name 'Father Comstock' stuck out to Booker like a sore thumb. Whoever the hell this 'Father' Comstock was, this place must have worshiped him as if he were the Son of God himself.

"On this eve we recommit ourselves to the city which hath delivered us all from the wretched Sodom below! We recommit ourselves through personal and spiritual sacrifice, we recommit ourselves by giving our thanks for that which we so desperately need, but do not deserve! We recommit ourselves with our submergence into the sweet waters of baptism!" The preacher continued with the same passion and intensity as before, growing louder to Booker as the young man approached the group of worshipers surrounding the the preacher. Few of them appeared to take note of Booker's sudden intrusion or his vast difference in appearance from the rest of the flock. The young man realized he must have looked like a black dot on the surface of an otherwise clean white domino.

"For if the Prophet had merely destroyed our savage enemies at Wounded Knee that would have been enough!" The preacher spoke up once more, his arms flailing upward to emphasize his point. Bookers cocked an eyebrow at the preacher's mention of Wounded Knee, he had met a several of his father's fellow soldier when he was a boy, none of them had made any mention to him over the years of any man by the name of Zachary Comstock. He thought back to when he was a boy and solidified his certainty that none of the letters his father sent had ever contained the man's name, the detective would have remembered considering he had them memorized from heart from the time he was a boy. It had been important to Booker to remember each ever word, be it written or spoken, from his father as the years went on, for they would be the only mementos of his existence that would remain after his death in the Battle of Wounded Knee. The next words out of the preacher sent a spiteful chill down the former soldier's spine.

"If the Prophet had merely rained down hellfire upon the twisted and immoral zealots of hell in Peking, raising the city of sin until nothing remained, _IT _would have been enough." Memories of the city's destruction flooded Booker's mind as he remembered every gruesome detail of that day, forever etched into his mind like so many others during his service.

"_No, Booker, you don't have time for this, you need to get to the city. Get the job done and you can deal with the past later." _He thought to himself as he reigned his emotions back under control and slowly pushed through the crowd of people, no longer paying attention the preacher's sermon as he continued on about this prophet and his acceptance of gifts and other such things. By the time the detective had reached the front row, the worshiping man bellowed a loud 'amen' as he brought his sermon to a close and the worshipers began singing the same hymn as those had in the chapel above. But before Booker could grab any of their attention to ascertain how he could reach the city proper, the preacher whirled around to face the startled detective.

"Is it someone, new?! Someone from the Sodom below…newly come to be washed clean before our prophet, before our founders, and before our Lord?" The older man asked as Booker looked around to see the smiling and hopeful faces of the worshipers around him.

Booker had recognized the preacher, he was an innocent enough man by the name of Witting. He had met him the once, a few years back, when he had considered baptism after leaving the service in hopes of achieving atonement for his actions; the whole affair was a failed effort to say the very least. It appeared that the old man had gone blind or was in the process of going blind at this point, so it was doubtful that he would be able to recognize DeWitt.

"Uh, excuse me, I need passage to the city, do you know how I can get there?" Booker asked, unsure of himself as he looked upon the concrete banner hanging above a tunnel directly behind Preacher Witting, a strange light emanating from the far end of the tunnel behind the holy man. The banner read:

_T__he Path of Forgiveness Is The Only Way To The City. _

"Passage to the city, you say?" The preacher began with a chuckle. "Brother…my dear brother, the only way to to Columbia, is through the sweet waters of baptism."

Booker felt his entire body go rigid as memories of the the day he had sought such a practice invaded his otherwise controlled thoughts. Soon enough the terrible memories horrific atrocities he had commited filled his head, screams of those he had killed for faith, family, and freedom, overtook him. Booker knew he was no saint by any means, hell he was surprised that he hadn't burst into flames the second he stepped foot into this house of worship. Booker grew up in a christian household and knew the need for salvation and redemption from a very young age, but he felt that the weight of his sin was too great to be cleansed by a simple dunk in the water, especially by some old blind man who professed to act in the stead of the almighty.

Booker thought back again to that day in the riverbank and shut his eyes tightly at the display in his mind's eye. Instead of being submerged in the waters as he agreed, the former soldier tore himself free of the preacher and ran ran as far and as fast as he could away from that place, from his past, from everything that condemned his soul in his estimation. Booker had run all the way from his family's homestead to New York to start a new life. Booker was convinced that by doing things a different way he could earn back the grace that God afforded everyone else. Yet the more Booker thought about it, the more he questioned whether or not his choices since then had done any good? Had anything Booker DeWitt done for himself since leaving the marines made any sort of difference in his life, to his _soul. _The detective would have continued the though but the preacher's next words broke DeWitt from his inflection and brought him to open his eyes once more.

"Will YOU be cleansed, brother? Will you cast off the wicked old man and take up the new? Will you admit your need for salvation amongst a sinful and wretched existence apart from God? " The man leveled the questions directly at DeWitt whose eyes were wide with fear, fear of the unknown, fear of acceptance after the fact. Was he worth it, could it undo the damage he had done, could a baptism _save _his soul.

"I..I-I don't know if I deserve…" Booker stuttered in fear as he stood his ground, not paying any attention to the concerned worshipers around him.

"My boy…our Lord is one of forgiveness, he seeks to redeem all of his children! The scriptures tell us that it is His wish to see all in the kingdom of heaven who have come before the glory of the Lord and accept his Son!" The preacher implored.

"Sir, with respect, I've done some pretty bad things." Booker admitted dejectedly.

"Brother…you have done no different than any of us would have readily done at Calvary in our sinful state! There is not a man in this room who wouldn't have seen our Savior crucified on that wretched tree!" The old man stepped forward and brazenly took Booker's hand in his and led him to the center of the gathered around agreed with the preacher's assertions with collective 'amens'.

"But…with respect…how can a dunk in the water change the things I've done, undo the damage…" Booker choked up as he felt himself being lead by the older man.

"My boy, you must realize, what is done is done…once done it cannot _BE _undone…the sins you've committed, have been committed in a sinful state…once you accept the Lord as your savior, you will be washed clean and be given a fresh start to walk in the path of the Lord." The preacher noted Booker's puzzled expression and chuckled before he continued.

"Each of us will have to account for our actions on the great day of Judgment, of that there is little doubt, but by committing yourself to the Lord you are saying to all that you recognize that _you _are a sinner…that you recognize that you _need _to be saved…_want _to be saved…and are willing to commit yourself to a life of the Lord…free of sin…" Witting preached calmly as his cloudy eyes met DeWitts'.

"At times you will fail, of that there is little doubt. In fact I say with certainty that we all will stumble and fall at one point or another in our walks...we are but mere humans, it is our nature to stray...But we have the Word to keep us in faith and His love to lead us away from the path of wickedness and onto the way of the righteous!" Witting continued.

Booker furrowed his brows in thought, was he ready to make such a commitment, _could_ he make such a such a monumental declaration of faith when he was so uncertain of himself. God knew he had made so many mistakes, and the weight of those sins wore heavy on his heart. Then Booker remembered, he accepted this job in hopes of not just debt relief, but redemption. The detective thought back to those bloody notes in the lighthouse, telling him this was his last chance. Perhaps this would be his last chance at any hope of redemption and Booker wasn't about to look a gift horse in the former solider straightened up and took a deep breath, he knew it was now or never.

"So my brother, what is your answer?" He asked with renewed hope strewn across his old features. Booker looked around at the crowd and saw each offered their own affirmations and encouragements via silent expressions as well as whispered prayers. With a determined nod, the detective reached out with his left hand and clasped the preachers.

"All right, let's do it." Booker declared to the 'hallelujahs' and 'praise be to God' encouragements that came from the onlookers. With a wide smile the preacher spun DeWitt around, nearly knocking the younger man directly on his back. To say he was surprised at his agility and strength would have been an understatement as Booker could only offer a disgruntled "Hey" at the sudden shift in position, the preacher spoke up one last time.

"What is your name?"

"Booker DeWitt"

"Are you a sinner, Booker DeWitt"

"Yes"

"Are you ready to be born again, Booker DeWitt!"

"Y-Yes, I am!"

"Do you hate your sins, your wickedness, Booker DeWitt!"

"I-I do!"

"Do you _WANT _to clean the slate and leave behind all you were before and be born again in the blood of the lamb?!"

"…yes…"

"Then I baptize you, Booker DeWitt, in the name of our prophet, in the name of our, founders, and in the name of our _Lord! _Jesus wash this man clean and make him born again in the bosom of Columbia!" With that Booker closed his eyes as he felt the old man place his hand upon his forehead and press him into the waters below. Booker softly smiled as he closed his eyes and allowed the cold water to wash over him in a wave of spiritual enlightenment. Perhaps now things would be different, perhaps now Booker would be able to walk a little more upright, perhaps now Booker could stand to look himself in the mirror instead of turning away in shame. It was only the beginning of very long and difficult path, but to Booker the hardest part had already been put behind him. He made his choice and he would live with it, for better or worse.

Booker opened his eyes and the realization that he was still underwater brought a renewed feelings of fear as he struggled against the preacher's rather strong grip and downward force. The longer he struggled the more he realized he was running low on air. DeWitt tried to raise his arms up to grab ahold of the preacher or at the very least something to help him stand up, but found they were as heavy as led weights. Booker couldn't take it any more and opened his mouth, letting out the air he had been holding in and as the air rushed out water flowed in and his eyes grew heavy. Booker felt lightheaded, choked, and soon his vision faded too black.

* * *

_KNOCK _

_KNOCK_

_KNOCK_

Booker groaned at the sharp knocks, he felt dizzy, disoriented, and quite dazed, but in his foggy-minded state he couldn't tell what was going on. He tried to open his eyes, but he found the task nigh impossible.

_KNOCK_

_KNOCK_

_KNOCK_

"Booker, dear, could you get that door, it's probably the Henderson's!" A rather cheerful and decidedly female voice cried out from the kitchen, instantly bringing Booker to full consciousness. He looked around and noticed that he was back in his apartment in New York City, except it was decorated much differently from the spartan appearance he had left it; in fact, Booker could go as far as to say it looked as if it were occupied by a married couple.

_KNOCK_

_KNOCK_

_KNOCK_

"Come on, Book, you gonna let me and the missus stand outside here all night or what? I've got a bottle of Glenlevit that could use some love and affection from the two of us!" A man's voice came from behind the threshold.

"Oh Harold, I can't take you anywhere can I?" A young woman's voice could be heard chastising who Booker assumed to be her husband.

Booker stood up from his reclined position on the couch in the living space and stood to approach the door, but suddenly thought better of it. There was someone else in his apartment, a woman at that. The more the detective thought about it, the more baffled he became; he _never _entertained women in his apartment. Having stopped on the way to the front door, Booker turned on his heel and made his way over to the kitchen area where he spotted a shapely young woman wearing a gorgeous white dress with a black collar. Her hair was tied up in some fancy style and she appeared to be completely oblivious to his presence as she cut an assortment of vegetables on a board next to the sink.

Booker eyed this woman curiously, at first sight his mind screamed for him to approach and wrap his arms around her lithe little waist. Booker gave in to his mental inclinations and without hesitation approached this mysterious yet alluring young woman and gracefully rested his hands rest upon her hips. She gave a soft gasp, obviously not expecting the physical contact but not necessarily rejecting it.

"Booker, what are you doing?! You know what have company?" She asked a hushed but excited voice with a soft slight giggle. He could practically hear a beaming smile on her face.

"Can't a man show his wife just how much he loves her?" Booker spoke without thinking. He couldn't believe what he just said, he wasn't married, he had no idea who the hell this woman was or why she was in his kitchen. But in that moment every word he spoke felt as honest as speaking his name.

"There will be plenty of time for that later this evening, _after _our dinner with the Henderson's. Now be a good boy, and fetch the door for me. I promise I'll make it up to you." The young woman replied saucily as she gave Booker a slight nudge to his pelvis with her derriere. Now the young man felt his instincts ignite with passion, but something about all of this told him it would be better to save such energy for later and with a grunt of acquiescence, DeWitt informed this siren of a woman know he was going for the door.

"Thank you dear, I love you." She said so sweetly that DeWitt was certain that there were angels in heaven crying. Without skipping a beat Booker spoke with the same comfort that he felt with each breath he took.

"Love you too, hon."

Bookers eyes went wide, what the hell was going on? Where did he get off telling strange women that he loved them, that wasn't like him at all. It wasn't that he didn't mean it, in fact that was probably the scary part. Booker knew deep down that he mean what he said with every fiber of his being. He needed to get to the bottom of this, whatever was going on, but Booker felt his body move outside of his control once again toward the door.

"_Maybe these 'Henderson's' will be able to fill me in on who this woman is and what all this is about?" _The detective thought as he stood before the doorway. The confused investigator reached forward, turned the nob, and opened the door to greet the seemingly nice young couple only to be stopped dead in his tracks. Before his eyes laid not a young couple nor the walls outside his apartment, instead he saw the same vision of New York he had seen on the train.

"Oh...God..." Booker whispered in horror as he fell to his knees, having come to the realization that he no longer stood in his apartment but in the ruins of the where the comfortable arrangements used to exist. Standing up, Booker made his way through the wreckage of charred building and walked out in to the deserted street and peered into the sky above. There was Columbia and her forces, armed for war, besieging the once mighty capital of the free world.

"What you have seen are visions, Booker…visions of what could be…and what should _never _be..." A soft voice from spoke up, eerily similar to the woman's in the kitchen just moments ago though it lacked the same joviality as before. The sudden intrusion of the voice gave Booker a jump as he hadn't expected anyone else to be around such carnage, no one ever had in the dreams or visions he had over the past six months. The former soldier turned in an instant to see a woman's silhouette, highlighted by the pale light of the moon.

"What are you talking about? Who are you? Why is this happening?" DeWitt asked frantically and heard the woman give a sorrowful sigh in response.

"All will be revealed in time Booker. But you must know that whatever comes, it all comes back to you..." She paused and appeared to bring a hand up to her face, perhaps to wipe a tear or maintain her composure, it had been too dark to tell. Booker attempted to approach but the woman spoke up once more with fervor.

You mustn't let this come to pass...it's happening now, but it doesn't have too." The woman cried, her voice breaking as she stood up once more. Booker mustered up the courage and took a step forward to investigate further, but he could see that the unknown woman brought her hand up with a motion to wait. A brilliant window of light and sound emerged behind her, all but blinding Booker to her actual appearance. Bringing a hand up to his eyes to shield from the intense brightness, DeWitt noticed that the girl was now holding out her hand in an attempt to offer some object to him.

Booker brought his hand up to her outstretched palm and took the trinket she held; it was an ornate pocket watch. The Pinkerton agent gave the shadowy figure a look of confusion, he didn't need any timepiece, he already had one; what the detective needed here were answers to these riddles, to these dreams, to everything. The former soldier went to raise his left wrist to show that he indeed had no need for a pocket watch, but as he raised his wrist he realized that his trusty time piece was gone.

"Find her, Booker, find her and make sure none of this comes to pass."

"What do you mean? Find who? What's going on?" Booker pleaded with the woman, taking another step forward, the young Pinkerton reached out to grab the girl and bring her into the light to see who she really was behind all of the shroud of mystery. Unfortunately for the detective the woman took a large step back and cast both of her arms out to her sides, and with a glow of her eyes she spoke one last time.

"I'm sorry Booker, I have to go now, but we'll meet again...soon...but now you must wake up and stop these horrors from ever starting…for your sake…for _hers." _Just as Booker opened his mouth to let loose a barrage of questions, the shimmering source of light and sound exploded and consumed everything in view and with a flash the young detective's vision was filled with white.

* * *

Bookers eyes slowly opened to a view of three massive statues bent down in his direction. He looked about his surroundings and noticed a few more people, both men and women, in white robes speaking softly amongst themselves as they watched him with rapt intrigue. The exhausted investigator gave slight cough, no doubt from having nearly having been drowned under the waters of baptism. Booker gingerly stood up and shook his long coat free from water which it had been soaking up in his state of unconsciousness. It was at that moment Booker noticed he had been clutching his left hand tightly, curiously he felt a foreign weight that hadn't been there when he was in front of the preacher. The detective opened his palm and gasped at the sight. He clutched the very same pocket watch from his vision, never before had any such thing occurred from these visions.

With wide eyes, Booker opened the watch to see an extremely ornate analogue face with exquisite handmade embellishment about the surface, but it wasn't the intricate care taken to craft such a beautiful time piece that captured Booker's attention, but instead the picture that had been delicately placed inside of the face cover. Booker was shocked, it was the woman he had seen in his dreams, the woman that had rescued him throughout so many curious nights of unrest. She appeared to be wearing the same dress as in his latest dream, her hands interlaced and propping her chin up just so as she gazed at something out of the frame of the picture. Was this the girl that he was after? Was she the one that the crazy woman from New York had been terrorizing him to retrieve? Was she the same woman in all of his dreams or was this all some sort of greater conspiracy to drive him mad. Booker thought back to the pictures from the cigar box and mentally compared them to the photo in the watch, the resemblance was certainly uncanny. Whatever the case may be, he knew that when he found this girl, a lot of his questions would more than likely be answered.

"_I'll be damned…well, I have a feeling we'll be meeting each other real soon." _Booker thought with a genuine smile, the first he had felt in a long time, as he closed the watch face and placed it in his upper dress shirt pocket, to keep away from the rest of his soaked attire.

Booker turned around and stared down into the long dark tunnel from which he had obviously emerged post-baptism. The longer he stared, the more the young man began to feel as though something about him had changed. He couldn't put his finger on it but something about him felt different, not as heavy, not as burdened, not as _inhuman_. Booker didn't know if he was just imagined this perceived difference or if maybe, just maybe it was the first result of many from accepting baptism. The veteran wiped a hand across his forehead and turned to look ahead.

"Well DeWitt, today's the first day of the rest of your life…let's start acting like it." He said to himself softly as he strolled ahead out of the water and up the staircase to the left of the giant statue of what Booker had assumed was a founder. Suddenly all of the talk of 'founder's and the images of the scroll, sword, and key from the windows and the bells began to make sense. It became abundantly clear to the investigator that these people worshiped much more in addition to God. Another man in a white robe broke Booker out of his ruminations.

"Sir, pardon me, but am I to understand that you have undertaken your baptism on this day?" He asked eagerly, almost too eager for Booker's liking but the man looked harmless enough so Booker felt no harm in oblidging him.

"Yeah, I did, new man and all…" Booker gave almost sheepishly as the man before him clasped his hands together in prayer and gave praise to God, the prophet, and the founders.

"Glory be to the Prophet for seeing us through to this day!" The young worshiper rejoiced gladly.

"Yeah, though I could've done without the whole _almost drowning_ bit." Booker said with a shrug. The worshipper chuckled.

It is said that that the prophet fills our lungs with water so that we may better love the air." Booker tried his best to hide the horror he felt at that revelation.

"Is that so? Well I suppose it works..." Booker offered to the young man's satisfaction as he earned a slight chuckle and a 'blessing be upon you' from the young man as he continued back the way Booker came. The young investigator shook his head at the dedication at one these followers of the prophet and proceeded forward through a series of gardens. Eventually, Booker came to a large set of wooden doors with a marble archway with letters engraved reading:

_Welcome to the City on High_

Booker hadn't noticed until he finished reading that there were two attendants standing ready at each door. They gave each other a shared look and a nod and the one to Booker's right spoke first.

"You have been baptized in the Holy Spirit, sir?" The bald man asked.

"Yes, I have." Booker answered firmly, if not with a small sense of pride, which was unusual to say the least. Perhaps the city had already begun to rub off on him in ways he hadn't quiet expected.

"Very good, the Prophet takes great heed to ensure that only the righteous might enter paradise...we can't be letting wolves amongst the sheep." The shorter man replied in acknowledgement.

"Understood, thank you." Booker meagerly responded.

"Gird up your loins and stand ready, for now you enter Eden!" With that the two gentlemen opened the wooden doors and Booker stepped through, his jaw dropped in sheer awe at the vision that lay before his eyes.

* * *

**Endnote: So when I first played through the game after it came out I always thought it was odd how quickly Booker partook in the baptism at the very beginning, so with this different Booker I wanted to capture the moment he made his choice and the conflict that he would have gone through at such a decision. There was a lot to tackle here, but I just hope I give it justice as I am planning on brining it back up in later chapters.**

**It's funny, I was a little afraid that I would have to cram a lot into this chapter because Booker's admittance into Columbia wouldn't have enough but man was I wrong. I know I promised that this chapter would feature the meeting of the lutece twins, and original it was, but now it's going to be in the next chapter so for those looking forward to that I do apologize and beg for your patience.**

**As always thank you very much for reading this story, reviews are always welcomed and greatly appreciated!**

**Respectfully,**

**TheLifeLongEditor**


	5. Chapter 5: A City In The Sky Part I

**Chapter V: A City In The Sky Part I**

**Author's Note: Here we are at Chapter Five and I just want to throw out a huge thank you to everyone who continues to read and follow along with the story! It's nice to know you all are liking the story as much as I enjoy writing it. Anyway, on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite or anything about it, it belongs to Ken Levine.**

* * *

In his time, Booker DeWitt had traveled to the far reaches of the Orient and had seen impressive as well as ancient sites of civilizations that long since disappeared from the face of the earth. The detective had even seen a fair share of some of the more impressive views that the United States had to offer upon his return from his overseas tour of duty. But as the detective stepped out into the light and observed the full breadth of the city for the first time, Booker was overcome by a mixture of awe and humility. Here he was, a simple detective who had thought that creating lighter-than-air-craft was something to write home about, now standing in an entire city high up in the clouds.

The City of Columbia was nothing short of a modern miracle in Booker's mind, he couldn't fathom just how its architects had managed to get all of this off the ground, let alone to stay high above the clouds. Of course on the trip to the colossal metropolis in the sky, Booker recalled seeing a much larger cityscape beyond the chapel, which further baffled the detective as questions filled every corner of his mind: Why isn't this city in the news more often? How did they manage such an impossible feat? Who designed the city? All and more circled around in Booker's head as he continue forth out of the archway and down the cobblestone steps toward the bustling city street.

The detective was taken aback by the utterly alien architecture, granted it shared some semblance of similarity to the structures of Washington D.C., pillars and columns borrowed from the classic Greek and Roman designs, but here the angles and curves of each of the structure were beyond anything Booker had ever seen. As if someone had traveled forward and brought back the blueprints of the future. Yet there were clear homages to the past as the detective noted numerous spires and domes topping highly elaborate buildings, with gargoyles guarding the rooftops. A curious choice, the gargoyles, for the little that Booker had known of the statues he was aware of their purpose to ward off evil spirits. Of course, with a god-fearing people populating the city, he shouldn't have been too surprised.

From the former soldier's present view, the vast majority City currently rested beneath the warm and loving glow of the sun, as if to highlight God's blessing upon mankind's noble achievement. But with a more discerning observation, Booker had noticed that certain sections of the city appeared to be hidden amidst the shadows far off in the distance, as if to reveal a darker, more sinister side as the Columbia architectural style had been transformed from blessed and inviting in the light to dark and foreboding in the shadows of darkness.

Booker shook off such lofty notions of humility and intrigue and soon found himself swept up in the hustle and bustle of the city's booming population. Booker was quick to observe that every single person that crossed him had an air of aristocracy about him or her, as if the entirety of Columbia was comprised of the highest echelon of American society. Of course, that wasn't necessarily surprising to the detective as he was hard-pressed to believe that anyone of outside the cream of the crop could afford such luxury, but then again in a city high in the clouds, anything was possible.

Careful to make as little impact as possible, Booker allowed himself to be carried away by the crowed and kept in pace with the group of busy-bodies that hurried down the street. Of course with each step, he could feel the stares of Columbian natives bearing down on him. Given his state of appearance, the young detective was certain he stuck out like a single cloud on an otherwise clear blue sky.

"My word Daisy, look at that specimen of man?" He overheard a woman remark with a hint of humor in her voice.

"Mhm, Margaret, I would love to take him home and give him a good polish. I'm certain I could polish that tarnished silver to a shine." She finished seductively.

"Daisy…such scandal!" The woman admonished as they made their way down the street and out of Booker's earshot. The former soldier merely blushed and kept his gaze forward; contrary to his belief, even up here amongst the heavens there were those of the opposite sex who found him at least somewhat attractive. But such things didn't matter to Booker, not after…

Having shaken himself from the negative thoughts, Booker stepped out from amongst the crowd and lit up a cigarette to cool his frazzled nerves. Perhaps the air was thinner all the way up here or maybe it was the totally foreign environment but whatever the case happened to be, Booker DeWitt was increasingly on edge. As he took his drags from the cigarette, the detective stepped up to the glass to observe the wares of the shop on display. His eyes widened as he noted the wares and looked up at the name of shop.

_Marconi's Consumer Radio Empriorium: A Subsidiary of Fink Co._

"Consumer Radio…but that's impossible…" Booker muttered to himself as he peered through the window and looked over the rather small and easily portable devices. The former solider had seen such a device once before when he did some work with the Port Authority in New York, but this was leaps and bounds beyond anything the constabulary had possessed. Booker walked inside and browsed the numerous devices, each one confounded the puzzled detective even further.

"Surprising, isn' it?" came a voice from the far end of the shop. Booker looked up from the wares to spot a rather unassuming gentleman make his way from the back, wiping his hands with a cloth as he approached the detective.

"I'm sorry?" Booker asked in confusion.

"Suprising that such technology even exists, is it not?" The evident shop owner clarified with a smile as he reached over and activated one of his radios; within seconds the device tuned into the local signals.

"_**Up Next! A new melody from Columbia's Musical Maestro, Albert Fink! This latest humdinger tells us all what a 'fine' romance is all about!" **_

A song began to play that Booker had never heard before; the melody was quite enjoyable the female singer was quite wonderful. The young detective was completely dumbfounded, he had never before seen a machine outside of a gramophone replay music for anyone's benefit nor anything outside of a telephone project anyone's voice, but here this contraption did both and was small enough to hold in both of his hands; it must have been something new and local to Columbia, but something about the song was different, the detective couldn't quite put his finger on it but something about the song just didn't' fit. The shop owner turned the radio volume down to a respectable level that would allow for easy listening and, at the same time, for polite conversation.

"I've been in this great city since it first took flight in 1892, and its splendiferous wonders never cease to amaze. Almost as if the good Lord himself came down and saw fit to bless us with such joy and wonder!" The Italian-american said with pride, as he brought his hands up to his suspenders.

"You've been here? Since the beginning?" Booker inquired. He was curious to find out as much as possible about the city.

"Why, yes, you could say that? Gugliemo Marconi, at your service?" The man bowed dramatically.

"Booker DeWitt…Gugliemo, sounds Italian." Booker stated rather pointedly; in hindsight it probably wasn't the best way to introduce himself, but Booker never prided himself as the subtle type.

"Ah…yes…I am originally from italia, but I received an invitation I couldn't refuse from leaders of this great city at the time and I couldn't refuse…unlimited funding and new technologies never before seen by the likes of man, how could I refuse?" The Italian man revealed calmly as he removed his spectacles and polished them using his shirt.

"Leaders? You mean this whole ball of wax isn't ruled by this 'Father Comstock' fellow everyone seems to be talking about?" Booker asked, curious as to how this city was actually run. Could there be more going on behind the scenes of this illustrious city?

"Well that was many years ago now…originally the city was ruled by a council of elected officials, very similar to the rest of your…_our…_government, but that all changed very quickly." The man said, looking about the store very nervously as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What do you mean changed very quickly?" Booker pressed, he wanted to hear more.

"Well…" The man looked toward the door and saw nobody near its entrance. "…It's all rumors of course, but around ten years ago give or take a year or two, Comstock consolidated a lot authority and power...very quickly I might add! As he gained great influence and sway over the council, more and more powers were vested in him and before any of us knew it, he became our uh…_de facto…_leader."

"You mean he _wasn't _chosen by the people?"

"Oh no, no he definitely was chosen, but any _opponents _that might have taken issue with his _rise _mysteriously vanished without a trace. There's still the council, but our prophet's rule is sovereign." The man replied with a look of regret.

"I take it not everyone is happy about the change of government." Booker remarked.

"On the contrary, most are actually quite pleased with the Prophet's leadership and guidance. After all, wouldn't anyone just die to have a leader blessed by God to receive visions of the future…not to mention our victory over the Chinese." The inventor finished darkly. Booker didn't allow the dark memories to sink in deeper than they already had at the briefest of mentions; instead he continued to press for more information.

"Anyone indeed…but still there must be _some _dissenters?"

"Well…it's not for me to say but…there are certain parties that would go to considerable lengths for a change in regime…I should go as far to say as there are even rumors that Father Comstock is making preparations to secede from the United States entirely!" He finished with a nervous flourish. It was apparent that such things were not often discussed in such public places.

Booker stood shocked at the Italian shop owner's final remarks, '_secede from the United States' _, could that explain why he hadn't heard anything in the papers from about the city? After their involvement in the Boxer Rebellion, Booker wouldn't have been surprised at any consequences, but to consider secession that was, well, it was damn un-American. But that in of itself raised another good point, just where did the residents of Columbia and their allegiance lay, with the United States or with Father Comstock?

Bookers thoughts were disrupted by the telltale sound of a shop bell ringing, no doubt a new patron had entered the store. The Italian gave a slight bow and an offered an apology and quickly attended his new prospective customers and the detective knew, at that moment, that he had gotten all of the information available out of the shop owner and proceeded to vacate the premises. Booker straightened his coat and proceeded down the street and crossed over to the opposite side, which appeared far less crowded and more to his liking.

Booker came across a young boy selling papers and elected to purchase one. The detective reached into his coat and retieved the coin purse and pulled a coin of higher denomination and tossed the silver eagle in the boy's direction. It must have been well over what the boy had normally received because no sooner had he caught the currency did the boy belt out numerous praises and thanks. Booker waved him off as he went along his way; he remembered what it was like to grow up with barely enough to get by and he figured, if he had the money he might as well put it to damn good use.

DeWitt reached an open courtyard with a colossal statue in the center. The large stone sculpture depicted the same older man from the stained-glass windows in the chapel, only now he appeared to be wearing a cloak that was captured mid-moment to billow in some perceived breeze as he brought a sword to bear, no doubt to ward off some unforeseen danger all the while leveling a might intense glare. Evidently Booker hadn't been the only one to give the statue a once over.

"I don't know, I don't think it's right."

"What is it _now, _Maureen?"

"It's just that…I think that the statue fails to capture Father Comstock's absolute…you know… divinity?" A couple discussed and booker scoffed as he leaned up against a light post and opened the newly purchased newspaper.

"Just because a city flies, doesn't mean it don't have its fair share of fools…now to find that girl…" He muttered as he perused the tabloid. He scanned the papers for any relevant information. The headline of the paper discussed the upcoming celebration of the city's birth, a "Founder's Day" similar to Independence Day no doubt. While useful, it wasn't exactly what Booker had in mind for 'important' information. Booker continued to scan the paper for any relevant articles. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, Dewitt spotted something on page thirteen.

_**Monument Island Still Closed To Public As 20**__**th**__** Anniversary Approaches.**_

The article didn't go too far into details, but there was something about a death of a 'Lady Comstock' mentioned and about how over fifteen years prior she was dispatched by anarchists. Booker didn't pay too much mind to the drivel, but he was curious about the picture associated with the article; the same large angelic monument as the one in the images gifted to him by his malevolent benefactor as well as the same as he was treated to upon his arrival. The news of its closure was a tad concerning, it could mean trouble to gain entry. Not to be dissuaded, Booker folder up the paper and placed it in the nearest trash receptical.

"_I'll have to do some reconnaissance before I make any effort to retrieve the girl." _He thought methodically, his military training kicking into high gear. But before he could take a further step, the detective caught a blur out of the corner of his eye and just as quickly a young boy approached him with what a telegraph in hand.

"D-DeWitt…Booker DeWitt?" The young kid asked, he couldn't have been older than six or seven years of age. Booker knelt down and nodded affirmatively.

"That would be me…I'm Booker DeWitt."

"Oh…good, I've got a telegraph for you, marked urgent. Here you are sir." The young boy responded, having gained more confidence as the conversation wore on.

"Thanks kid, here's something for your trouble." He flicked a silver eagle the kid's way, which was just as quickly caught with both hands. With profuse gratitude, the young boy scampered off, no doubt to his next assignment for the day. Booker shook his head in amusement and proceeded examine the telegraph. The words 'Columbian Telegraph' were imprinted with a highly decorative style and elegant flourish. The message read:

_**Booker DeWitt. STOP. Meet Us at the 'First Lady Hotel'. STOP. It is imperative that we speak at once. STOP.**_

_**-Lutece**_

The detective flipped the card over to discern if there had been any additional notes or anything missed in his initial pass, but there was nothing further. He clicked his tongue and tapped the card against his palm a few times before placing it in his breast pocket and walked over to a nearby man enjoying the crisp clean air with a hand in one pocket and a cigar in the other.

"Hey, 'scuse me, sir, do you have a moment?" DeWitt asked calmly. The man merely nodded and motioned for the young detective to proceed.

"Can you direct me to the, uh, 'First Lady Hotel'?"

"Why sure, old sport, it's erm…" The man paused and turned, prompting DeWitt to do the same and both watched as several more blocks of cityscape both rose and fell into position utilizing the same propulsion that Booker had seen several times before; each locked into place via mechanical bridges with metallic teeth that intertwined to form a solid connection. To Booker it was a mechanical marvel, an eighth wonder of the world but to the man beside him it was just another day in Columbia. Once the city blocks settled into place, the man clapped Booker on his shoulder to once again acquire his attention.

"Just taking Madison Avenue, all the way down. Then turn right once you hit Constitution Avenue. Then follow that down a few more blocks and keep an eye out and you can't miss it…she's got a beautiful statue of our beloved Lady Comstock right out front." He finished with a grin and proceeded to take a drag from his cigar.

"Thank you, kindly." Booker nodded and turned to make his way back down the street. The man merely waved him off and wished the young detective a blessed day.

So far Columbia had proven a nice enough city, helpful citizens and a beautiful view, but DeWitt knew appearances could be deceiving, and he had a strong suspicion that this city was hiding some dark secret somewhere. Granted the detective didn't have any proof of his theory, but his gut usually steered him in the right direction. Booker made his way down what he now came to know as Madison Avenue and looked ahead to see he was getting close to intersecting with Constitution Avenue and picked up his pace.

"Alright, so take a right and keep an eye out for a statue, great." He mused to himself as he crossed the street and continued in the direction the jolly man had provided.

The young war veteran curiously noted that there were far fewer people occupying the street than had occupied the are he had entered. But then again he just witnessed these sections fly from all different directions and latch onto his neck of the woods so he decided that it probably wasn't worth reading into; besides it wasn't as if DeWitt was complaining about the lack of crowds, quite the contrary the detective rather enjoyed the peace and quiet afforded by the nearly empty street.

Of the few people that occupied the roadway, the majority appeared to be workers for the city government; each were dressed in the same blue and white overall and work jumpsuits with 'City of Columbia' emblazoned on their backs. Booker stopped and watched the workers as they began putting up a large banner that hung from one side of the street to the other. It was only when they managed to secure the banner did Booker get a good look.

_**Come To The Fairgrounds on Saturday, July 6**__**th**__** To Celebrate Our 20**__**th**__** Founder's Day!**_

"Well, so much for peace and quiet…but that could be an opportunity…" Booker posed to himself as he avoided the man on the ladder and pressed forward down the street.

Soon enough Booker located the large edifice he had been tasked meet these mysterious Lutece people and it was just as impressive as the city itself to say the very least. Booker noted the rather large and opulent statue of whom he had come to assume was Lady Comstock having been depicted as reaching out with an air of grace and forgiveness, her arms stretched out a receptive manner as if to welcome any and all to the comfortable accommodations afforded by the hotel. The statue itself was positioned in the middle of large pool of water, streams of which were arcing inward toward the effigy but not close enough to touch it. The statue and pool were situated in the midst of a beautiful and lush rose-garden, carefully manicured and well maintained to Booker's estimation.

The hotel itself was an impressive palatial estate, built using the same mixture of Georgian and Greek styles that DeWitt had seen around the city from time to time. The building had to be at least fifteen stories high; though not the highest structure in all of Columbia but still impressive nonetheless. Three massive domes of polished bronze topped the center of the massive lodging, each proudly displaying the star spangled banner from a pole at the top. Just below the Banners rested a very large stone banner with ornate and inlayed gold design which read:

**Our First Lady Hotel**

As Booker rounded the front garden, he noted what he could only surmise as being a path for automobiles to arrive and drop off passengers and visitors to the hotel, surprising considering he hadn't seen a single automobile since his arrival. Then again he had barely seen a fraction of the city, so the lack thereof didn't necessarily mean they didn't exist up here. Of course that thought led to several other questions such as how in the world a city in the sky could support automobiles much less massive structures, there had to be something more to it than balloons and engines. DeWitt knew he wasn't the smartest man around, but he wasn't a fool; there was more going on here than met the eye.

He approached the entrance and paused when he spotted two statues of angels flanking either side of the main doors. With a tilt of his head, Booker studied the statues carefully before recognizing them as reproductions of the angel depicted by Monument Island. Even their poses were identical, reaching out as if to pull the object of their desire inward toward what he could only assume was to be a heavenly embrace. With a hearty swallow, DeWitt reached out and opened the ornate door and entered the elaborate hotel.

The main lobby bustled with activity; men, women, families, all were making their way to and from one position to another throughout the entire room, while the hotel staff were hard at work ensuring that each customer's needs were met. There was a large sitting area, complete with fireplace, coffee tables, newspapers, and anything else a visitor might need to take a load off and relax. Across the room there appeared to be a smoking area directly adjacent to a line of telephones, no doubt for the traveling room had been decorated with baskets of rose sitting atop marble tables; it made sense given that the floors themselves consisted of a fine marble. The walls were adorned with portraits of religious imagery ranging from famous artwork from renaissance Italy all the way to modern Columbia representations of Father Comstock as well as other images that Booker hadn't recognized, with the exception of one rather harrowing image. Booker stepped up to the painting and read the metallic plaque at the bottom of the frame.

_**Drown The Sodom Below **_

The portrait depicted a scene of siege; in dark amber skies a fleet of war zepplins, scattered about with Columbia in the high corner above, as if to preside over the actions below, were spread out over a nondescript city. The artists depicted these war vessels to be rain down the same deadly balls of fire from Booker's dream upon the city below, drowning the concrete jungle in smoke and flame. But that wasn't all that caught the detective's eye as Booker leaned in and focused solely on the most prominent of the dirigible and noticed the faint silhouette a woman standing at the top, looking down at the carnage below. The image was far too small to make out any discernable detail, in fact Booker doubted it was anything more than a few dark strokes of black paint, but something about faintest depiction of the woman captured the former soldier's imagination. While the whole of the artwork was startling to say the least, it clearly demonstrated everything he had seen in his dreams as of late, but that couldn't have been possible...could it?

"Ah, yes, that's one of our newest additions, just came in a few days ago. It's one of my favorites!" came a rather cheery voice that startled DeWitt out of his reverie. At noticing his giving of the young detective a fright, the worker offered his sincerest apologies to which Booker acknowledged and assured that no harm had been done.

"My name is Edward Blankenship, I am the manager of the hotel. I take it you are here to check in?" He asked in an assuming manner and motioned for the detective to follow.

"Yeah, how'd you figure that?" Booker asked as acquiesced to the manger's invitation.

"Aside from your being in my hotel lobby, you obviously come from the surface." Blankenship replied, not bothering to elaborate any further upon that statement.

"It's that obvious, huh?" Booker sighed.

"Well, let's just say, it wouldn't take much to get you looking like one of us. But please, forgive my lack of manners, I do not wish to offend by any means…I was simply offering an observation. The man said in realization that his words might not have come across as friendly as he desired, in such an industry it was imperative to be as polite as possible. Fortunately for the manager, Booker didn't really take insult, instead it served to confirm what he'd already known.

"So, may I have your name sir?" The hotel manager asked as he retrieved a clipboard from his desk and a pen.

"Umm…DeWitt…Booker DeWitt. But listen I didn't make any reservations, I was told to meet someone here by the name of…"

"Ah, yes, here we are! Booker DeWitt, staying for one night in one of our prestige suites! Room 1913!" The manager interrupted a now confused detective as he retrieved the keys for the reserved room and with a soft 'ah' pulled them from the wall at his back and placed them in Booker's hand.

"I'll just need for you to sign here and you can make your way to the elevators just around the corner and to your left." Edward finished with a polite smile as he offered his guest the necessary sign-in paperwork.

"I don't understand…I never…" Booker muttered as he signed in.

"Looks to me like you've got yourself a guardian angel here in Columbia, I'd be sure to thank them if I were you…this is one of our more luxurious suites." The manager leaned in, careful not to arouse the attention of the other workers or guests around the room. Booker nodded and wrote his signature quickly.

"Got that right, well thanks I'll be on my way then." Booker nodded and made off toward the elevators.

"Of course sir, thank you for choosing to stay with us, if there's anything you might need please dial our front desk!" The manager declared proudly as he filed the necessary paperwork away and proceeded with his regular duties.

Booker came to stop before a series of elevators and reached over to press the 'Call' button to summon the lift. As he depressed the button, a soft glow illuminated the metal and highlighted the letters etched in place.

"_Impressive." _Booker thought as he patiently waited for the elevator to arrive, fortunately for the detective he didn't have to wait very long as a soft bell resounded through the comparatively small room and one of the elevator doors opened.

DeWitt stepped inside and observed a panel with a series of buttons numbers ranging from one to twenty, pressed number nineteen to which glowed in response. Booker spied a rather ornate knob with the word 'Push' proudly displayed across its surface. Not one to dally, the former soldier slammed his fist against the switch and with a brief jerk, the lift began its slow ascent to the higher levels of the building. Booker took this opportunity to lean back against the far wall opposite the doors and fold his arms in thought.

"_So this Lutece…or these Luteces…whatever the case may be…'ve been following me since I left New York, and set me up in some swanky hotel. I guess I should be greatful but I wonder…am I about to walk right into another spider's web?" _

Booker pinched his eyes in frustration and furrowed his brow, how had it come to all of this? He had tried to do better after he left the marines, a fresh start, a new had honestly tried to take his life in a more 'respectable direction', granted he wasn't a part of law enforcement but the Pinkerton's were a respectable agency in some circles. Granted he had been known to imbibe every so often, but never to excess for the few times he had let himself go he had made some god awful decisions that he'd lived with every single day. But Booker knew deep down it was his other, more serious vice, gambling. It was all a game of risk, chance, you could win or lose it all on the luck of the draw or the roll of the dice. The detective had one a fair amount of change but he had also lost a considerable amount more, all in a foolish attempt to square the debt he had incurred.

He sighed and wiped his hand across his face in defeat; in the end it was his entire fault and no one else's. He knew he should have stopped, but _could_ he have stopped himself? It was great fun, but it was more than that to the Pinkerton agent. As with the danger of tracking down violent criminals, gambling was another quick fix to escape the horrors of what he had done. It didn't require deep introspection or reflective though, it was all about how to win the next hand. But that's what it all came down to, avoidance. How hard Booker could work and how fast he could run to escape the sins of his past.

"_Guess there's no avoiding it any longer." _Booker thought grimly, of course there were some things he could bury deep down, but his own actions directly resulted in his being here. Still though, he did accept baptism and that gave Booker a chance a fresh start and he would be damned if he wasn't going to use it.

A soft bell sounded off and the lift game to a short halt; the glow of the buttons ceased and the wooden and glass doors opened revealing a trisecting hall way marked on each corner with the rooms that could be found. Booker examined each directive card and found that his room would be directly ahead at the end of the hallway. Booker tossed the hotel room keys lightly in the air and caught it just as quickly before making his way down the red carpeted and electrically lit hallways. At his brisk pace, it wasn't very long before the detective found himself staring at the plague that read **1913 **beside a beautiful oak door.

The Pinkerton agent slid the key into the lock and opened the door and crossed the threshold into the opulent room. Directly in front him was a sofa, two lounge chairs, and a coffee table adorned with several books for casual reading. The entire arrangement faced an impressive fireplace complete with an already healthy fire to warm the room to a comfortable temperature. Directly ahead was a balcony, no doubt providing a fantastic view of the premier sections of the city; Booker made a mental note to enjoy the view at some point prior to his departure. In the far right corner of his room, he noted a mini-bar, complete with a crystal decanter containing some mysterious brown alcoholic beverage. Booker spied a door along the same wall and proceeded to step through the entryway into the sleeping quarters.

The bed itself was a rather ritzy four-poster affair, complete with silky smooth and crisp white sheets. Two end tables flanked either side of the mattress and in the corner of the room next to a curtain drawn window was a beautiful writing desk, complete with all necessary utensils and a telephone for internal and external use. Opposite of the bed stood a dark wooden dresser with enough storage space for two grown adults to stow their belongings away for the duration of an extended stay. On The left wall was another doorway, leading toward the toilette and washroom.

Booker stepped inside and noted the lavish arrangements of the sizeable washroom. The toilette was in the far right corner of the room, rather unassuming as far as toilettes are concerned. But in the direct center wall was a his-and-hers cabinet complete with two individuals mirrors and two individual sinks, no doubt meant for couples. The right wall was adorned with small photographs of birds and other such inane topics while serving a primary purpose of holding the racks for the clean towels. The left wall had been largely occupied by a shower/tub combination large enough to comfortably fit two.

Booker whistled, as he could no longer contain his boyish excitement at the high-society living arrangements. He knew he could never afford any such luxury on his modest pay, he wasn't destitute by any means but he certainly wasn't living it up with the Rockefellers. Booker walked over to the sink and turned the nob, to release the cool water into the basin. The detective cupped his hands together and splashed his face with the chilling water, which gave him a feeling of instant refreshment. A few more splashes and Booker proceeded to shut the water off. Walking over to the racks, he grabbed a light hand towel to dry his face and returned to the sink.

"If you've quite finished dilly-dallying, we do have some matter of great import to discuss" An annoyed woman stated rather abruptly. Booker looked up into the mirror and spotted an irritated red-head directly to his rear. He whirled around to face the mysterious woman, but found her strangely absent. He tossed the towel aside and made his way for the door way and stood alert in the bedroom, but still found no evidence of any intruder.

"Must be out of my mind." He thought as he took a few breaths.

"I assure you Mister DeWitt, your sanity is quite in check, now if you'll please come in here, time is of essence." A cheerful male voice sounded from the sitting room. DeWitt furrowed his brow in frustration and stepped into the room in question, to find the balcony doors wide open, curtains billowing out into the room and a red-headed man standing with his back to the room facing outward toward the city before turning around to face the newest occupant of the room. The redheaded woman from before was perusing a book she had picked up from the table and leaned comfortably against the mantle above the fireplace while doing so.

The pair of them could have been twins as far as Booker had been concerned, they both had the same complexion, red-hair, and aristocratic air to their voices but something about them told the Pinkerton that there was more to them than that. As if they were literally of the exact same cloth, two sides of the same coin. Yet something about these two were very familiar. No doubt they were well off, the gentleman wore an expensive cream coat with a collared shirt and matching light brown vest, slacks, and shoes. Similarly the lady also wore a combination of cream, brown, and white, trading in the slacks and dress shoes with a skirt and heels. Both wore emerald green ties that seemed to perfectly juxtapose the striking blue depths of their eyes.

"Okay, I need answers, _NOW!" _Booker all but shouted at the pair. At this point the detective would have given anything to have his trusty pistol handy, but seeing as he lost it on his way up here, raising his voice would have to do.

"Of course you do, Mister DeWitt…we all need answers…" The man started.

"We all _seek _answers…the question is, which answers..." The lady continued.

"…are _worth _seeking and which can be _found_." The man finished with a grin.

Booker eyes them both carefully, darting back and forth as if he were afraid if he took gaze off either one for too long they would vanish into thin air. All at once, it became abundantly clear that he had met these people before.

"You two…I met you at the docks, you took me to that lighthouse." Booker exclaimed as he stepped toward the head of the room to keep both in his direct view.

"See, I told you he would get it, brother." The lady declared.

"No you didn't" The man objected.

"Yes, but I was going to tell you?" She replied.

"But you didn't." He said in a sing song voice.

"But I was going to have had told you?" She offered as she set the book down and stepped up toward her counterpart.

"No…I don't think that's right." The man said as he brought his hand to his chin in profound thought.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TWO?!" Booker shouted through their conversation, his patience had finally reached its limits. He wanted answers damn it, and he wanted them now. The duos looked at each with curiosity and then back at DeWitt.

"I do apologize I am Rosalind Lutece and this is my..."

"I'm Robert Lutece, a pleasure" Robert finished for his fellow with a bow. Booker shook his head, these were the strangest people he had ever met but at least he was getting somewhere.

"So, would either you two explain just why the hell you dragged me up here?" He asked putting his hands at his hips. The pair looked to each other and nodded once more before turning their attention back to the irate detective. Rosalind elected speak.

"Straight to the point, good man DeWitt. As we've made it abundantly clear, your current employer…"

"The Pinkertons?" Booker tested the waters of the conversation to determine just how much they knew. Robert chortled and quickly brought a hand to cover his mouth as his sister leveled an annoyed glare at both men.

"Don't play coy with me, DeWitt, willful ignorance doesn't suit you. Now what was I saying…ah yes your employer." She continued.

"What do you know of her?" Booker asked as he sat down in one of the lounge chairs.

"Considerably more than you, but far less than we would like." Robert responded as he mimicked DeWitt by taking a seat in the opposite chair and both watched as the only female in the room came to stand before the fireplace.

"We know that she approached and coerced you, under considerable duress and threat of harm, to perform a seemingly simple task for undoubtedly nefarious personal purpose." The redheaded woman spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"So the man at the lighthouse, that _was _her?" Booker slowly asked, he really didn't want to know the answer but deep down he was certain of what they would say.

"I'm afraid so, poor fellow didn't' stand a chance." Robert responded sadly before taking a sip of a glass that he appeared to have conjured from thin air.

"She's a very dangerous…person…Mister DeWitt, capable of far more than you realize at this juncture. Fortunately for you, we are here to help." Rosalind finished almost smugly. Booker gave each of the duo a look of disbelief.

"Look at the risk sounding crazy here, she's got men who can appear and disappear like that!" Booker snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. "Frankly I just don't see how anyone could help me, hell she's known my every move and hasn't exactly been too vague about what she plans to do with me if I fail…or to some…" Booker trailed off at the recent evidence of the mysterious woman's reach. The former solider didn't scare easy, but that woman frightened him something fierce.

"Mister DeWitt, we are fully aware of her threats and we assure you that our actions thus far have been so far outside her scope that it is highly doubtful she's even aware of our existence." Robert offered comfortingly.

"Indeed, I'd be surprised if she even knew if you had made to Columbia as of yet, by my estimation she'll be expecting you to arrive sometime tomorrow." Rosalind said as she gazed out onto the open balcony.

"How would you know any of this?" Booker inquired.

"It's not about _how _we know, what matters is that we _do _know." Robert emphasized as he set his glass down and pivoted toward the confused detective.

"To put it bluntly, we are here to make you a counter-offer DeWitt, Bring _us _the girl and we'll wipe away your debt…" Robert posited toward the former solider.

"In addition to offering protection and safety for certain parties including, but not limited, to you and the girl." Rosalind added which only added to Booker's disbelief.

"What's so special about this girl?! Why does everyone want her so damn badly?" Booker asked of the pair to which Robert smiled and Rosalind rolled her eyes.

"You will find out in due time…"

"And in due time all will be revealed…"

"But for not what's important is that _you_ rescue the girl from her tower." Rosalind concluded rather testily. Booker didn't like that he was being backed into a corner, but at least with these two he didn't get the feeling he was staring down the barrel. Having sensed the detective's hesitation, Robert cleared his throat.

"Mister DeWitt, _Booker, _you are here on a mission to redeem yourself for the actions of your past, correct?" He asked and Booker gave him a wide-eyed stare in response.

"I'll take that as a yes." Robert said with a knowing smile before he continued. "So what we are attempting to do is to provide you a proper method and manner for true redemption, to do the right thing." Robert ended softly. His sincerity struck a chord deep down inside and which only muddied the waters of Booker's mind even further.

"What do you want with the girl?" He asked softly.

"Simple, the girl has questions, we have answers, in exchange we too wish to converse and have certain questions of ours answered…simple really…" Rosalind replied methodically.

"Quite simple actually, a simple exchange of information for her freedom, then afterward she is free to do whatever she so desires." Robert finished for his counterpart as he rose from his seated position and took a stance directly next to his redheaded 'twin'.

"Sounds like something mob might say." The Pinkerton quipped sarcastically.

"Yes but we aren't threatening you for money or promising you long trip off the edge of Columbia, are we?" Robert mused cheerfully to which the young man raised his eyebrows in a sign of agreement.

Booker held his head in his hands and sighed; this was a big gamble for him to take. On the one hand he had the mystery woman in New York who had proven herself dangerous and highly influential; with threats of harm to both himself and others as well as her abilities to reach beyond the city, he would be a fool to try to cross her. On the other hand, this pair of Luteces, seemed to know enough about this woman, himself, and had more-or-less honest intention for the girl all the while promising protection from the wrath of this woman.

"I need some time, this is a big decision to make and the wrong one could hurt a lot of people…no offense." Booker offered as he stood up and came to a rest just before the balcony.

"Naturally, it's quite a large decision to make, take all the time you need." Robert offered.

"Well…not all of the time…time is limited." Rosalind argued.

"Quite, in fact I should dare say that time is short."

"The clock is ticking"

"Time is of the essence." Robert concluded as Booker turned to face duo.

"When do you need my decision by?" Booker asked somberly and the pair once more looked to each other and back to the detective.

"Oh don't worry, we will know when your decision is made DeWitt." Rosalind said with a slight grin that had slightly unnerved Booker.

"You'll be presented with the opportunity quite soon enough where you'll be forced to make the choice and when you do…" Robert started.

"…and when you do, we shall know, and everything will be set in motion…" Rosalind continued for her counterpart.

"…one way…"

"…or the other…" Rosalind finished for the both and Booker rubbed his chin in thought before he scratched the back of his head.

"Fine…fine…so where do I find the girl? I assume she's in the tower?" The Pinkerton asked of the pair but they merely shook their heads.

"She's in the tower, but now is not the time to find her."

"You have errands to run and reconnaissance to conduct." Booker was shocked at the lady's insistence; if this girl was so important why would he need to do anything other than find her? Robert took one look at DeWitt's face and noticed the man's consternation.

"Tomorrow is the perfect time for a mad dash to monument island, the whole of the city will be turning out to the Fairground Quarter, security will be high as they will be expecting a big scene from you…"

"However, with our guidance, we shall avoid both unnecessary attention and bloodshed, and get you in and out with the girl without anyone the wiser." Rosalind succinctly finished her brother's answer.

"Okay so how do I go about that?" The former soldier asked a little more confused now than he had been before.

"Relax, Mister DeWitt, all in good time. Now then…" Robert stepped forward and handed Booker a card with a series of addresses written neatly upon it. The detective looked down confused and looked back up at the pair with an expectant stance.

"As we said, you have some errands to run…" Rosalind started.

"…And some reconnaissance to conduct. After all you need to be ready for what's to come."

"Alright, alright, I'll run your damned errands. When and where should we meet once I'm done?" Booker asked dryly, not taking too much of a liking to this turn of events but it wasn't like he was chock full of options.

"We'll meet back here in your room at seven-thirty this evening…" Robert offered.

"Try not to be late, DeWitt." Rosalind added rather curtly. Booker, who had looked back down at the card to properly read the addresses, went to respond to lady's brusque attitude but found that neither of the pair were standing before him any longer nor did they occupy the hotel room.

Booker shook his head and gave a disgruntled exhale before he wandered out onto the balcony and rested his elbows upon the stony railing of the outcropping. At any other point of his life, Booker would have stayed out on the on the balcony for hours and enjoyed the paradisiacal vista. But right now he had a million different thoughts coursing through his mind and an increasingly complicated job to perform. The young Pinkerton took in a deep breath to calm his nerves and released with a relaxing exhale. Booker surveyed the 'land' amongst the clouds and smiled proudly.

"Gone where no DeWitt has ever gone before, that's something to say at least." Booker retrieved the pocket watch from his coat and popped the lid open to reveal the time: 12:49. Noting that he had roughly seven hours to get his tasks done, Booker realized he didn't have much time to waste but before he closed the lid he took one last look at the beautiful girl. Closing the lid, Booker turned and exited the hotel room, having made sure the lock the door behind him.

* * *

**Endnote: So I was originally going to have this all be one chapter, but at its present length the whole thing would have been monstrous. So we'll finish this one up next weekend. I do apologize if I've missed anything in my edits, this was a difficult chapter to get out in a good time frame.**

**Also I thought at the fifth chapter mark I'd like to thank the following people for reviewing;**

**Trin-Zik**

**Eric Vong**

**Razmir**

**Shurely**

**Your reviews have been really helpful and greatly appreciated!**

**Another big shout out to everyone in the wings still following along and reading, you guys are awesome!**

**-TheLifeLongEditor**


	6. Chapter 6: A City In The Sky Part II

**Chapter VI: A City In The Sky Part II**

**Author's Note: So here we are at Part II of what I like to call the "Running of The Errands" arc. But in all seriousness I wanted to flesh somethings out, but I promise going forward I'm going to try to pick up the pace a little bit.**

**Also, I'm going to be keeping my profile up-to-date on a mostly regular basis, I'm thinking weekly right now, so if I make any changes as to the schedule of updates to stories or anything, you'll most likely find them on my profile.**

**So, without further ado, the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite or anything about it, that privilege belongs to Ken Levine.**

* * *

DeWitt took the elevator back down to the main lobby and approached the manned central information kiosk. The attendant was helpful enough when the detective flashed the card with the addresses; Booker believed it would be for the best if he started working his way from the outside in, that way if this little job took longer than expected he would still be closer to the hotel to meet the two mysterious scholars by the end of the day.

The attendant readily affirmed his knowledge of the the furthest address and offered to call upon a stagecoach to transport the detective. Booker thought it a tad odd that in a luxurious and futuristic city like Columbia, a stagecoach would be the preferred mode of transportation for a ritzy hotel, but he supposed that he had seen and heard far more peculiar things in this day alone. The veteran didn't dwell too long on such matters long and thanked the man before he left the kiosk and started down a path to the front door, leaving the attendant free to make his phone call.

Booker stepped outside to wait on the coach and lit a fresh cigarette to pass the time; a habit he had formed when he was bored or stressed. As he took his first drag and exhaled, Booker focused on the cigarette and the wheels and gears in his head began to turn and grind in synchronization. Just how had he let himself become so dependent on these little devils? He always told himself he could stop at any time, but would he ever try? Such questions would have to wait for later, for the sight before the Pinkerton left him in a peculiar mixture confusion, excitement, fear, and awe.

A carriage arrived at the entrance to carry Booker to his intended destination and it wasn't any thing to write home about, however the means by which it had arrived was what left the detective in such an inspired and perplexed state. The steed was as close to a real horse a facsimile could achieve, in fact if it weren't for a few glaring details it probably could have passed off for the genuine article in DeWitt's estimation. This automaton of an equestrian proudly displayed _Easter & Sons Premium Automated Stallions _along its hind leg; Booker surmised that the brand must either have been the manufacturer or the distributor, but it didn't really matter. It wasn't the make of the machine that drew Booker's eye, but the glass dome of blue electricity situated just behind the saddle. An orb of floating energy, the likes of which Booker had never seen, appeared to be powering the machination.

"You must be Booker DeWitt, yes?" The stagecoach driver bellowed happily as he brought the mechanized horse to a heel.

"Yeah…could you take me to 180 Forsythe Boulevard?" Booker asked, his eyes never quite leaving the facsimile as he handed the card to the driver for verification.

"Sure thing, it's a little ways from the hotel just so you know." The man expressed as he stepped down from the carriage and opened the door for Booker to step inside.

"It's fine, not like I got much better to do today." Booker responded as he tossed the cigarette to the ground and snuffed out the small flame under the heel of his shoe. The detective stepped up into the carriage and promptly took his seat.

"Alright, I'll let you know when we're getting close." The driver finished as he climbed back into position and engaged the horse. The carriage jolted forward, similar to a locamotive, but the differences soon became more and more glaring as the stagecoach moved with such calm and serenity that the detective almost forgot he was being drawn by an automaton horse. it wasn't very long before the transport departed from the property of the hotel and soon made its way back onto the busy streets of the flying metropolis.

Booker looked out of the small windows to note similar carriages in addition to high priced automobiles; Booker surmised that transportation by carriage must have been a kind of nostalgic throwback for the upper echelon of the city. While the advances of the automobile impressed Booker, he couldn't help but feel a longing to see a living, breathing horse. He had been around them for the better half of his youth back home in West Virginia where he originally grew up; he had been quick to ride and loved the freedom that such a pleasure afforded. In fact, Booker had hoped to one day move back out west and buy some property and even own a few fine horses.

But such dreams were far and away from Booker's current means, especially with the debts he had incurred. Rather than dwell on such depressing matters, Booker elected to lean back, cross his arms, and try to get some rest. He had a feeling that he would get plenty of opportunities to take in the grandeur of the floating city, but with each moment he felt the taxations of the day wearing him down; it wasn't long before the exhausted detective succumbed to slumber.

* * *

HIs nap was an uneventful affair in that he wasn't treated by strange visions of a future yet to come or of a beautiful woman guiding him through an impossible city, instead it was merely as if he had blinked and in that moment the passage of time had accelerated and brought him closer to his desired destination.

"Hey there, sir! Mister DeWitt, just a few short moments and we'll be arriving" The driver announced as he turned the carriage down another road.

"Thank you, kindly" Booker responded as he sat up and blinked rapidly to regain visual focus. With a shake of his head, the detective was once more wide awake and alert.

The Pinkerton cast his gaze out on the street, observing the natives in their daily activities about the area. Something had been nagging him since he first stepped foot onto the streets of Columbia, he hadn't seen so much as a speck of trash outside of its receptacle nor even a man down on his luck; as if the entirety of the city was so well off they needn't not concern themselves with such seemingly trivial matters faced by America's metropolitan centers below.

Bookers eyes fell upon a family making their way down the street along with the rest of the crowd, the man and woman walked with arms locked around once another, carefree smiles adorning their face. In front of them a well dressed little boy and girl skipped cheerfully. He got the impression that the children wanted for nothing in the city, not that anyone in the city he'd seen had gone without. Of course if the vehicles and carriages racing about the streets were anything to go off, wealth was not a concern for the everyday Columbian. The driver announcing their arrival broke Booker's thoughts.

The driver stepped down from the stagecoach and opened the door for the veteran who gave him a handful of silver eagles as a tip. Booker took one look at the building and closed his eyes with a groan.

"_Booker DeWitt…you are an absolute imbecile…" _He thought to himself rather angrily as he ran a hand across his face. He went to turn around to ask the driver if this was some kind of joke, but the carriage had already departed and was well down the street.

Booker retrieved the card from his coat pocket and checked the address he had selected; it matched the embellishments adorning the stairs and sides of the structure so it was indeed the right location. The building was an ornate edifice from top-to-botttom. The building's front face was adorned with a large pair of barber's sheers with the words "Quality" and " Trimming" cut out of each of the gigantic blades. Beneath the sheers was a large great sign illuminated by bright bulbs prominently displayed the business name:

_**The Great Cantone: Quality Trimming**_

Each side of the building advertised two bombastic barber's poles to further advertise the offered services of the property owner. The windows were surrounded by banners that displayed the shops name along with advertises promises that the patrons experience would be, '_Faster, Quicker, Sharper Than Ever!" _The windows themselves were decorated with artistic flourish, adding the to overall class of the enterprise. There were about two stories above the barbershop, with with a row of of four beautiful windows looking out onto the streets below. The upper row each flew red banners with a golden design carefully woven into the expensive fabric. Evidently this 'Cantone' fellow must have done pretty well in his line of work to afford such lavish accommodations.

Booker ran a hand through his unkempt hair and exhaled in pure frustration. His life, and possibly the lives of others hung, in the balance and those creeps wanted him to go out for a shave and a haircut? He didn't know whether to laugh in disbelief or scream in frustration. Straightening up the detective decided on the former and climbed the steps and walked into the barbershop.

"Hang your coat on the wrack and a take a seat wherever you like, I'll be with you in just a moment!" A voice echoed from a room toward the back of the barbershop. The young detective cocked an eyebrow and merely shrugged as he shirked his coat and hung it on the empty wrack just right of the front door. To his immediate left was a waiting area, complete with red and brown leather chairs, similar in make to the craft in the lighthouse. The chairs formed a large u-shape around a round coffee table, which held an assortment of newspapers, periodicals, and novellas.

Stepping forward into the room, there were eight barbers' stations on each side of the room, sixteen in total. Based on the flamboyant decorum on the outside, this must have been a preferred stop for discerning male citizens of Columbia in search of a good shave and hair trimming. Though Booker was a bit surprised that the shop was empty, but he wasn't about to complain; the fewer people, the better in his mind. Booker itched the scruff around his neck and elected on a random station on the left and sat down.

"Welcome, welcome, I have been expecting you for a few days now!" A man exclaimed as he dried his hands with a cloth from a doorway in the back of the room. He was a happy fellow with a medium build and salt and pepper hair and mustache. The barber appeared to be in his mid-forties, but looked no worse for wear. He wore a white collared shirt with a red bow tie and matched with light brown shoes and cream slacks. Without hesitation, the man crossed the room and stepped up and extended his hand to the detective in an inviting manner.

"Henry Cantone! The best barber in all of Columbia!" He proclaimed proudly.

"Booker DeWitt…nice to meet you…you said something about knowing I was coming?" Booker asked as he shook the mans hand and sat back as Henry rounded the station and fastened a barber's gown around his neck.

"Err…yes…one of my favorite patrons came in for a shave roughly a week ago, curious as I hadn't seen him in years, in fact I thought I heard rumors he had met an untimely end…but there he stood alive and well…" Cantone began as he sharpened the blade of his straight razor. He seemed to be lost in thought about what he had just spoken, as if he didn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.

"In any case, he came in for a shave and a trim and paid me a little extra to open up today for one hour. He said there was an important man coming to Columbia today that would require my services; said he would come in right when you did…and well…here you are…" Henry finished as he collected a shaving brush and cream and began lathering up DeWitts face in the white substance.

"Wait? You wouldn't normally be open?" Booker asked.

"No…not particularly…I usually close up for a longer holiday weekend for Founder's Day." He said in a matter-of-fact tone as he took position and got to work.

"Sorry to keep you like this...I mean..." Booker muttered, careful not to move too much out of fear of getting cut. The older man merely shook his head to ward off any concern.

"No need to apologize, the missus is out shopping with our boy Michael and it wasn't like I had any major occupations today. In fact, I plan to close up shop after this and meet them over in Freedom Plaza for lunch." Henry responded with an air of joviality.

Sitting in the chair and staring into the mirror ahead, Booker internally admitted that Henry Cantone was an artist with the blade. He had frequented quite a few barbers and received a number of shaves in his time, but never had a barber acted with such care and precision. Booker could tell that with each stroke of the blade the man imbued his heart and passion.

"I dare say DeWitt, you look like a new man." Henry remarked as he washed the blade and cleaned the tools while the detective admired his handiwork in the mirror in front him. Booker rubbed his face and was shocked at the level of smoothness as well as the closeness of the shave. He hadn't felt his face this bare in years, not to mention that the barber had managed such a feat without so much as a single knick or blemish.

"Gotta hand it to ya, this is a damn fine shave." The detective admitted as the barbed wiped the excess lather from DeWitt's skin.

"I told you, I'm the best! Plus that's a new blend that was developed by one of our local inventors. Claims to actually slow down the growth process for a little bit. 'let's you enjoy the shave a little longer." Henry added as he grabbed a bottle and proceeded to wet the detective's unruly hair.

"Well that's certainly somethin', you guys got everything up here don't you?" DeWitt muttered.

"Yes you could say we've been blessed. So what are we wanting today?" The barber asked with a comb in one hand and sheers in the other.

"Just a classic cut, if you don't mind." Booker didn't fuss too much; it was the simple things in like that suited him best.

"Very well, and I take it you part your hair to the right?" Cantone asked as he set to work on taming the detective's unruly mane. Booker offered a soft 'mhm' which the barber acknowledged. Soon enough a calming silence settled over the shop s the sound of shears cutting hair echoed about the room. Though Henry was a conversationalist, not particularly chatty by most standards, but he liked to entertain his customers.

"So how long have you been in our fair city?" He asked curiously as he stood to Booker's right and carried on with his work.

"Well I only just arrived this morning, so not even a day." Came the response to Henry's surprise.

"My word, a brand new face in Columbia. Don't' see that very often these days." Henry said and then stopped with a 'hmph'. He rounded the station and stood before the now perplexed detective.

"Say Mister DeWitt, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Uhh…sure, go for it."

"You've seen a bit of the city, would you say it lives up to its illustrious reputation?" Henry asked in earnest.

"Uhhh..." came the enlightened response from the detective, but the barber continued unabated.

"Would you say that we exemplify the best qualities of the stars and stripes my lad?" He clarified.

"Yeah I'd say I so... I mean could have done without the whole near-death experience for the welcome...don't get that on the way into New York...but otherwise you guys got yourselves a good thing going on. Why?" Booker answered honestly. Henry brought his hand to his chin and stroked in thought.

"It's just...oh, I'm probably fretting like some old maid." He brushed off and continued clipping hair.

"No, what is it Cantone?" Booker asked, he wasn't about to let this slip.

"It's just...I've caught a few of my employees talking. Apparently there are rumors that many aren't too pleased with the current state of affairs." Henry continued with furrowed brows.

"The current state of affairs? I don't follow."

"I don't know if you're aware, but after the Peking fiasco, our Prophet and Uncle Sam haven't exactly been on speaking terms."

"Well I should say, it wasn't the city's shining moment if glory...and, no offense, but you guys having been in any of the papers in years." DeWitt grumbled as his eyes darted off to side, memories of his painful past threatened to spill forth.

"Agreed, but there's been a sort of _understanding _between our two leaders...but there are rumors that Father Comstock is planning to secede from the Union!" He exclaimed with fraught.

"Secession, I doubt that!" Booker assured the worried barber.

"Oh, what makes you say that?"

"Well...given this is an election year, I sincerely doubt that Taft would even consider letting that happen." Booker bluntly replied. He wasn't one much for politics, but he knew that a sitting President had a snowball's chance in hell of being reelected for letting such a marvel up and leave the union. It would be a fiasco; people would call him weak and ineffectual. In Booker's mind, it would probably come down to a bloodied conflict, but Columbia would stay under the watchful eyes of the United States.

"Plus I doubt that Columbians would support something that amounted to treason." Booker finished after a thoughtful pause.

"Well, I must admit there are those who would a agree with you, but there are plenty here who have expressed their displeasure of being continually tethered to Washington instead of flying freely amidst the clouds."

"Well, what's your take on it all?" Booker posed to the barber giving the man a brief pause.

"I'm a family man DeWitt, I came here to get away from the troubles of the surface and give them a better life; I don't believe in unnecessary conflict…and I believe that's exactly what we're headed...if I may be so bold." Henry offered and finished up his work.

"Well, there we are, what do you think?" Cantone asked as he brushed the excess trimmings away and offered DeWitt an unobstructed view of his efforts. The veteran nodded with a smirk, the man's reputation was well deserved.

"I'd say you're the best in Columbia, at least as far as my opinion goes…for all it's worth." Henry laughed and clapped the detective on the shoulder.

"I value every customer's opinion, regardless of their time and place up here. All the same, I do thank you for your patronage and I hope you enjoy your stay in our city." Henry offered in thanks as Booker stood with a slightly confused look.

"Look I doubt you work pro bono, so what't the tab? I promise I'm good for it."

"Robert already paid in full. He's a good man that one…a little strange, but good all the same." Henry placated the young detective.

"Still, take this, it's the least I can offer for opening up today." Booker handed the barber a ten-dollar silver eagle coin and shook his hand with a smile. Henry thanked Booker for his generosity walked with the detective over to the front door as the younger man grabbed his coat.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know this address do you?" The detective asked as he retrieved the card from his coat pocket and handed it to the barber for his viewing as he once more adorned himself in the black garment.

"Sure…1480 Wilshire Avenue…yeah that's _Chalifour Tailor_, one of the finest, and oldest, clothiers in all of Columbia."

"_First a barber, now a tailor, what gives?" _He thought as the Barber gave him walking directions to the establishment. Booker thanked the kind barber and bid him a good day as he walked back out onto the sidewalk and once more traversed the beautiful city streets.

* * *

It was a rather long walk but Booker finally arrived at the decisively unassuming building in the middle of vast array of storefronts. Unlike the Barbershop, this was a simple brick and mortar building, with a simple green and red sign, which displayed, _Chalifour Tailor_. Booker knew better than to make quick assumptions based on outward appearances, he had heard stories from colleagues that traveled overseas about finding some of the best work in the simplest places.

Three figures stood a the top of the steps leading into the shop, all talking and laughing as if catching up on old times. One was a short man with thick black hair. He looked to be in his fifties and wore a blue and white striped shirt with charcoal black slacks and matching suspenders. He spoke to a tall blonde who looked as though she were in her mid thirties; she wore a green and white patterned dress with a large white hat. Standing next to her was a little girl who couldn't have been older than eight or nine years of age. She too wore a light green dress similar to her mother, though lighter in shade it still shared the same playful white pattern. As the detective climbed the steps, he began to hear more of their conversation.

"You tell Calvin that he must bring you and Susan over to our place on Sunday after church, Christine promises to make a fine lunch." He spoke with an unexpected southern tinge. Booker had expected a French tone given the name, but Columbia was full of surprises so why shouldn't he start expecting the unexpected.

"Oh Algernon, you know my husband. He's absolutely rigid with his routine!" The woman cried with a laugh, followed shortly by her daughter's fit of giggles.

"Ah well, you tell him if he wants more fine attire, he better listen to reason" The tailor retorted with a belly laugh.

"I'll be sure to attend to that, now come along Susan we have quite a few errands to run and the day is over half way. Algernon, it's always a pleasure! I'm certain Calvin will love this new waistcoat." The woman thanked the tailor and descended the stairs directly past DeWitt.

"Have a blessed day Josephine, and you too Susan!" The short man waved with a smile gaining a wide toothy grin from the little girl who waved back fervently. As Booker approached the man seemed to straighten up and immediately stuck out his hand.

"Algernon Chalifour, at your service Mister…"

"DeWitt…Booker DeWitt, but please call me Booker." The detective finished for the older man and clasped his hand.

"Only if you'll do me the same pleasure by calling me Algernon." He shook with glee.

"Can do, sir. Now I was told to come here…for some reason, I was kinda hoping you'd know." Booker suggested, as he honestly had no idea why the Lutece's would send him to a tailor of all places.

"You know, now that you mention it, your name does strike a familiar tone. Walk with me Booker." The southern gentleman opened the door to his shop and motioned for Booker to follow him inside.

For such a small and nondescript storefront, the interior was surprisingly larger than Booker would have imagined. There were racks of sports coats and trousers along with waistcoats of various styles and patterns. Tables were also evenly distributed throughout, displaying a myriad of collared shirts, ties, hats, and shoes. When Booker made his way up to the counter, he noticed an assortment of cufflinks and pocket-watches; everything that a gentleman in Columbia could possibly want or need to keep with the latest fashion could probably be found all within these four walls. As the detective admired the accessories, Chalifour retrieved a ledger from the lower shelf and began to sift through it, having set the large book upon the wooden surface for better leverage.

"DeWitt…DeWitt...Ah yes, here we are, I remember this order now. Give me one second, I'll be right back." The man offered with a nod and headed through a door in the back of his store. In seconds he returned with a large wrapped up box and promptly sat it upon the countertop.

"Here we are…it's a wonder I didn't completely forget about this, the order was placed almost six months ago now." The older gentleman said as he wiped some sweat from his forehead.

"Six months, that can't be right, I only just got here this morning."

"You are Booker J. DeWitt, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well then this is definitely for you, it took a while to create considering the strange materials, but being in Columbia I've come across much stranger tastes and requests to boot." The man finished and crossed his arms, giving the box a once over.

"_How could that be possible? How could they have known I'd come…none of this makes any sense. Figures, more questions and fewer answers." _The Pinkerton mused with a scowl as he retrieved the coin purse.

"There's no need for that, son. Your order was paid in advance." Booker looked up shocked, he wasn't accustomed to having people pay for things, much less likely expensive things at that; the occasional drink maybe, a dinner perhaps, but nothing from such a fine establishment. DeWitt reached out and tossed down a fist full of Silver Eagles from the coin purse, he didn't bother counting the denomination, based on a glance he still had plenty of what he had originally been given by his mysterious benefactors.

"Well I'll be going now, thank you for your help." Booker offered with a nod and approached the front door. Just as he reached for the handle he heard the older man cry out.

"Wait there sport, hang on a second." Chalifour's otherwise silky smooth southern accent betrayed a sense of urgency as he approached the detective.

"I forget something?" Booker asked perplexed by the man's sudden change in demeanor.

"No…at least, not necessarily. Forgive my bluntness Booker, but you look like you've been through the ringer and…well…I've got a reputation to uphold." Algernon offered slowly as he gauged the detective's reaction to his words carefully hoping not to anger the customer.

"What's that supposed to mean, _Algernon_?" The veteran asked, his attitude having turned sour by the man's implication.

"To be frank Booker, you look like you just crawled out of the gutter. Certainly you're all made up with a fresh shave and cut, but you stick out like a sore thumb. Now we're running a sale today, I'm sure I can have you walking out here looking like a million bucks. What do you say, son?" The gentleman offerered up with a mostly sincere smile, though he saw the man standing before him was still not convinced and so he further confessed the truth.

"All right...all right...truth be told, half of me wants to make sure all of my customer's look like Kings and Queens...and the other half doesn't want you walking out my store dressed that way for fear of other seeing you in such a state. What say you afford me the opportunity to give you some proper _Columbia _attire?"

Booker couldn't fault the man for his efforts; the black coat he'd grabbed on his way out of New York had more moth holes in it than a slice of Swiss cheese. The rest of the ensemble was both worn and overly patched up. Booker had the means at this point, it would probably do better to blend in with the locals while attempting to gather information; in Booker's line of work, most people tended to gravitate toward people who looked more-or-less put together.

"...alright..." Booker muttered quietly, his pride getting the better of him as he made his choice.

"I'm sorry?" Algernon asked, as he hadn't quite caught what the detective uttered.

"I _said _alright, let's see what you have in stock. But mind you Algernon, I ain't no charity case, I'll be paying in full." Booker sighed and followed the Frenchman turned southern gentleman over to a trifold vanity mirror.

"Splendid, we'll make an honest Columbian out of you yet, sport." Chalifour spoke with pride as he sized the detective up, giving him a complete once over.

"Do you um need my measurements or something?" Booker asked nervously, it wasn't everyday that he went in for customwear.

"Normally I would say yes, but I already have your measurements from your custom order. Now it's up to deciding what would be a good fit for you…and I think I have _just _the thing." The tailor exclaimed wagging his finger as he strolled over to a few of the wracks and began collecting several garbs of clothing. While the shop-owner did his work, DeWitt looked himself over in the mirror and smirked.

"_This probably the best you've looked in years…and you still look like shit." _He thought to himself with mirth. A few minutes passed before the renowned tailor returned and carried in his arms several articles on hangers and a box.

"There's a changing room just over there and to the left, son. Why don't you go get changed and then come back out and we'll see what you think?" With a nod, DeWitt retrieved the various items from the older man's grasp and walked into the changing room.

A few moments later, Booker returned from the dressing room and was surprised by the sight that greeted him in the mirror. The tailor given the detective a collared waistcoat with a silver and charcoal plaid pattern complete with a Victorian-collared shirt, a brilliant green cravat that really brought out the green in the detectives eyes, and matching charcoal slacks and black dress shoes to match his black leather belt. Booker stood before the mirrors and felt that something was missing and walked back into the dressing room. Seconds later, the Pinkerton emerged with the mysterious pocket watch. The detective hooked the chain on the top button and placed the timepiece in his left waistcoat pocket.

Having straightened out the attire, the detective had to admit the tailor did have a pretty good sense of style and taste and whomever gave him his measurements was spot on, everything fit perfectly; not too tight or too loose, enough room for movement without sacrificing shape, form, or movement.

"Well aren't you the spitting image of a Founder…I reckon you could probably pass for one of Father Comstock's inner circle dressed like that." The short man declared with crossed arms as he watched the younger man look himself over.

"Now...I just got off the phone with a nearby courier service. They're sending one of their youngsters over take your order back to your residence, that way you're not _over encumbered_"

"You callin' me weak, Algernon?" Booker posed as he retrieved some of the more personal affects from his older clothes and placed them back on his person as he bagged the rest of the older attire. Algernon laughed and offered to take the bag from DeWitt, which he accepted.

"Relax Booker, I meant no such offense. I was merely _suggesting_ you might wish to enjoy the splendor of our floating utopia in your new digs _without_ being unnecessarily bogged down by merchandise." Booker stroked his chin and chortled.

"You know, if you weren't such a damn good tailor, you'd made a terrific salesman."

"Why, Booker DeWitt, I don't know whether to be flattered…or insulted." The shop owner retorted with a grin as both men's attention turned to the front door a young boy entered with a bright smile.

"You must be the courier?" Booker offered and the boy nodded emphatically.

"Yup, that's me. You must be Mister DeWitt. Where am I taking these belongings?" He asked as DeWitt handed him the rather large and heavy parcel.

"To the 'Our First Lady Hotel', are you sure you going to be able to carry that all the way there?" The Pinkerton asked concerned with the weight of the package and overall size of the boy. The child merely waved him off with a cheeky grin.

"No worries, sir. I've carried things that were a _lot _heavier _waaay _farther before." He assured with exaggerated words to emphasize his capabilities. Booker tilted his head and grinned with a slight sigh of resignation.

"Alright kid, here…" The detective slipped a Silver Eagle into young man's jacket pocket. "…for the trouble."

"Gee thanks mister! May the Prophet bless you!" The young boy exclaimed as he set the parcel upon his back and quickly bounded out of the store.

"Unfortunately that they start them so young, but I guess it's as the scriptures say, train 'em up as a child and all that…" Chalifour reflected as he shook his head and once more stood behind his counter. Booker didn't need to ask the gentleman what he meant, evidently that kid was just as enamored with the Prophet as a majority of the population was at this point.

"I'll say…*ahem*…so, what's the damage?" Booker inquired, not looking forward to the final bill. The gentleman began to count all of the coins that Booker had unceremoniously dumped earlier on and soon enough his eyebrows peaked.

"I'd say you've well covered what you might have owed."

"Really?"

"Yes sir! Say, Booker, when people ask where you acquired such fine attire, do send them my way." The older man asked with a charming smile. It was no small wonder as to how this man had managed to create such a reputation for himself; the man could probably sell ice to an eskimo and make a handsome profit.

"Sure thing, Algernon, whatever you say."

"Thank you kindly, sir! Thank you for your patronage on this wonderful day and do take care of yourself now that you're a proper member of Columbia!"

Booker straightened his cravat and nodded at the man's kind offering and made his way back outside. Walking down the steps, Booker took in a breath of fresh air. Several people walked by in that moment, a few of the fairer sex and Booker couldn't help but notice their eyes upon him. With a slight nod, he acknowledged their presence offering only a short 'afternoon ladies' to which they responded with soft giggles and courteous waves before talking amongst themselves.

"I guess it's true what they say, the clothes make the man." Booker spoke to himself as he checked his pocket watch for the time: 3:10pm. He still had plenty of time to get the job done so when his stomach growled with hunger, the detective set his sights on a restaurant just down the street.

* * *

A brisk walk down the block and the detective stood before _McClintock's Eatery, _a sit down restaurant with both indoor and outdoor furbishments. Booker prayed as he stepped forward that the restaurant would be open and the Lord must have smiled upon him as a sign in the main entrance dictated that hours were extended for the holiday and for patrons to find an available seat and informed them that servers would be with them shortly. The detective smiled and made his way to the outdoor seating area where he positioned himself at a table in the far corner away from the other patrons and closer to the street.

Within moments a server was at Booker's side with a set of menus, one for drinks and the other for meals. Booker ordered a glass of Glenlivet on the rocks and a roast beef sandwich. After how the day had been going thus far, Booker needed a slight indulgence and a good homespun meal. Booker closed his eyes and reflected upon the events of the day thus far with a deep breath. First he was taken to some lighthouse in the middle of the ocean with a dead corpse to greet him, then he was launched thousands of feet into an impossible city in the sky, then he actually decided to go through with a baptism and make a huge leap forward to course correct his life, then those Lutece's came and offered him a new chance at redemption, then new clothes and mysterious package; this had certainly been a big day for the Pinkerton detective and he still had one more location to visit before his recon of monument island. It was a lot to take in for the man and he was happy to take a moment and enjoy the cool air and the warm sun, that is until he felt a strange vibration in the air.

The detective sat forward and opened his eyes and found the peculiar sight of Rosalind Lutece sitting directly across from him., having softly ordered a green herbal tea as well as a light desert. The waiter sat Booker's drink before him and assured the man that his order would be out momentarily. Booker thanked the man without his eyes ever leaving the woman sitting in the seat opposite his.

"So you takin' to following me now…Rosalind, was it?" Booker asked as he slowly slipped the fine scotch-whiskey. The prim and proper woman sipped her tea and chuckled lightly as she set it back down upon the table.

"In a manner of speaking, Mister DeWitt. I'm here to 'check-in' on your progress, I see you've already found more aesthetically pleasing attire." She retorted rather poignantly with a modest tilt of her head toward his person.

"Yeah I mean to ask you about that, what's up with the trip to the barber and the tailor? I mean, I get it...I've been needing wardrobe change but I don't think this is the right…" Rosalind held up her hand to cease Booker's question and closed her eyes with a deep breath.

"_That _was Robert's idea, if it were up to me you wouldn't be going about Columbia as if you were on holiday. But such as it is, I respect Robert too much to deny him his... _w__hims…" _She trailed off as she took another sip of her tea and thanked the waiter as he brought both her dessert and Booker's meal. He slowly made dug into the delicious delicatessen and urged the scientist to continue her thought.

"Robert has taken quite a liking to you, DeWitt. He's been_…watching you_…for quite a while. I dare say he holds you in quite a high esteem." Rosalind revealed as she slowly forked off a morsel of her dessert and indulged in one of the finer aspects of life in Columbia.

"Now why would he go and do a thing like that?" Booker questioned as he swallowed his latest bight of the admittedly delicious creation. The veteran took another slow and silent sip of his alcoholic beverage and noticed the fascination held in the eyes of the woman before him.

"Curious…" She began.

"What?"

"You are so unlike…I suppose it doesn't matter." She finished abruptly as she turned her gaze to the lightly populated street and continued picking away at her dessert.

"Unlike what, exactly?" He leaned in and asked abruptly, suddenly curious at what the mad woman had implied.

"Nothing of importance I assure you." She leveled back with a glare that clearly told DeWitt to leave the conversation alone. DeWitt nodded and shrugged and finished off the sandwich and leaned back.

"So tell me, Roz…"

"Rosalind or Madame Lutece, if you would kindly." The scientist all but spat.

"Very well, _Rosalind,_ where is Robert, if you don't mind my asking?" Booker asked as he took his glass in hand and nursed on the beverage.

"He's rather tied up on some very important endeavors…in fact he doesn't especially know I am here right now." She finished pointedly.

"Oh? So what brings you here without your partner in crime then?" Booker asked, not having realized just how true his words had been. Rosalind stood and left a substantial denomination on the table to cover both drinks, meal, and tip and motioned for DeWitt to follow.

"Come Mister DeWitt, I wish to…_chew_ _your ear…_while I escort you to the last locale on the docket." She said as she continued to walk forward down the street, without so much as even giving the young detective a slight glance almost as if she knew he would follow without question. Booker quickly caught up with woman who kept a rather quick pace given her slight frame.

"So, pray tell, what would you like to discuss with yours truly?" Booker asked with a combination of humor and curiosity. Something told him it wasn't for intelligent conversation or witty banter, he might have been above your average Joe, but Rosalind was leaps and bounds above anyone he had ever encountered.

"I'm curious about you Mister DeWitt…have you considered our offer any further?" She implored without so much as a hint of desperation or much of any other emotion outside of pure clinical curiosity.

"I-I have been off and on, mostly I've been trying to make sure I don't get lost today…" Booker admitted rather embarrassed. In fact he'd been avoiding such deep thoughts since he left the hotel, better to put off tomorrow what could be done today. Of course, it was more than simple procrastination...it was a huge decision that could have far reaching implications and the detective wasn't certain such a choice could be made off the cuff.

"As we said before, we _will _know what your decision will be and _when _ you will make it…I was just airing my curiosity." She answered objectively as she ushered DeWitt alongside her as they both crossed the street once the vehicles came to a halt.

"I take it that's not the only question you wanted me to answer."

"You're more perceptive than I initially surmised. Still, you are correct in your assumption." Rosalind opined as they continued along, unabated by the throngs of people going about their lives in preparation for the holiday weekend.

"Sooooo? What then?" Booker's curiosity reached new heights.

"My true curiosity lies within your particular._..interests..."_ At her words, Booker dry swallowed.

"Look, you're a respectable woman and all Madame Lutece, but I'm not..." Booker began to clarify only to be met by a huff of indignant from the fiery redhead.

"Mister DeWitt, my interest in you is, if anything, purely _scientific..._besides, my heart belongs to another." Rosalind countered with a hint of sadness at her last words. If Booker knew better, he would have said that held a certain longing in her eyes that reflected the very same in her heart.

"Okaaay...so what were you getting at then?" He asked with a renewed curiosity.

"Is Columbia growing on you?"

"Beg pardon?" He asked to which she pinched the bridge of her nose and once more sighed with consternation before gathering the necessary words.

"Are you enjoying your time in this fair city?" She asked once more, which brought Booker back to his conversation with the barber.

"Uh, yeah sure, I don't see..." But before he could continue, she turned down another block and began her own train of thought.

"Columbia is many things to many people DeWitt. To some it is a Heaven on earth, others a business opportunity, and to others...the seat of revolution."

"I'm afraid I still don't follow."

"All that glitters is not gold, Mister DeWitt. This city hides far more than you could possibly imagine, some you will discover, some that will remain buried until its bitter end...and there are some that will shake the foundations of your soul to its core." She added darkly.

Booker furrowed his brow at the last bit and reflected upon the baptism he had accepted. He was honest with himself that he would attempt to live a better and more redemptive life, but he didn't feel particularly 'shaken to his soul'. Perhaps there was more that Rosalind was getting at. He turned to ask her what she meant, but she merely tossed him a pair of binoculars.

"What are these for?" Booker managed as he followed the woman closely.

"Your reconnaissance, trust me when I say that they will come in hand...you can return them this evening...but I'm making a point here DeWitt." She finished abruptly.

"Then get to it, you toss things out right and left but offer little or no explanation and, damn it, I want answers!" Booker all but screamed in frustration, he was tired of being strung along and leapt at the opportunity to uncover more.

"Such answers will be revealed in time and in their own place...but I will offer you this DeWitt..." Rosalind stopped and looked about before leading the detective a little further down the street where less people occupied their immediate vicinity.

"Hold fast to your principles here in Columbia...don't let this city take you in, even for a moment. For if you falter, you will lose everything that you hold dear. Honesty and integrity, Mister DeWitt, will your greatest strength and serve you well in the days to come. You will face many obstacles and challenges but if you stay true to yourself, all will be well...now hop to it, we're here." The mysterious woman ended as she motioned for the baffled detective to shift his gaze to the storefront before them.

_**Sword Of The Prophet Armaments and Accessories**_

"So am I supposed to be picking something up or...?" Booker turned to ask no one as the Rosalind had apparently vanished without so much as a single trace that she had ever been present. The detective paused and looked about the area for any sign of the woman, but none could be found. He shook his head in defeat.

"_Course, a straight answer would be far too easy. Every step forward with them feels like a mile in the wrong direction." _He thought as he stepped inside the shop.

The gun store was the most occupied of the three locales he had been directed to visit, with both single men and couples examining various pistols, rifles, and other armaments the likes of which the veteran had never seen before. The gunstore owner, obviously busy, asked if he had been here to pick up an order or make a purchase. Booker affirmed him he was there for the former and offered his name. The portly owner came back with another hefty package and asked for a signature on a bill of sale to affirm the purchase was successfully completed. Booker signed along the printed line and slung the package over his back and stepped back out onto the street.

"Well that's the last of the errands, now let's see this monument island."

* * *

**End Note: Alright and we that have the end of the arc that I have internally referred to as, "The Running of The Errands." Up next we catch our first glimpse of our girl in the tower and the other negative forces operating in Columbia. **

**On a side note, I'm going to try to pick up the pace a little, there's just so much I want to cover! To that end I am eternally grateful to everyone who is patient enough to read through and stick around!**

**Thank you all for reading and your reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**Respectfully,**

**TheLifeLongEditor**


	7. Chapter 7: Of Prophets and Profits

**Chapter VII: Of Prophets and Profits**

**Author's Note: I've probably gone through three different iterations of this story before finally going in a different direction all together. I hope you all like it!**

**A special thanks to the following for your reviews:**

**The Only Liberator: Thank you for your kind words, I do hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

**Razmire: Thank you for continuing to review and follow along! It's really appreciated!**

**Now that I have given that special due, we can carry on with the story ahead!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock Infinite; the property belongs to Ken Levine.**

* * *

Zachary Hale Comstock prided himself in being a man of strong constitution, and yet after over twenty years of prophecy, there were still certain visions that brought him to his knees; powerful and world shattering visions that threatened to split his mind and destroy his very sanity. So when the older man had finished toweling his face after giving it a good splash of cold water, he could only stare into his own reflection in sheer exhaustion at the latest experience.

He didn't see the visage of a man who built an impossible city upon nothing more than a vision from an archangel nor did he see the face of a man who had successfully brought the best of the American Values in conjunction with good Christian values to the forefront of law and order in said city. He didn't even see the man who had the strength to raise Peking to ashes after their terrible actions towards the 'civilized nations' of the world…no.

Instead, Zachary Comstock saw a man visibly aged by the visions had been gifted by the angel of God. There had been many that displayed the beauty and splendor of the city long before its construction and others of events that would come to pass, and lately he had been 'treated' with visions of the future in which his Lamb would fulfill her prophesized role in the rebirth of the world.

Today, however, Zachary received a powerful and revolting vision of a future he dared not entertain, a future he had only seen once before nearly twenty years ago at Columbia's first flight. He had seen a future wherein the dreaded False Shepard arrived in Columbia, ascended the Archangel's Tower, and absconded with his beloved lamb, all the while the flying city burned to ashes in the background as a direct result of his destructive acts. The mature man closed his eyes as the wild and vivid images flooded his brain once more. Desperate to shut such terrors out and leave them in the deep recesses of his psyche, the prophet stood with renewed strength and determination as he stared his own reflection down.

The prophet discarded the used towel and left his private washroom which adjoined his personal office. The holy man looked about his more familiar surroundings with a smile, he had accomplished a great deal in his life since...well, it didn't matter, all of this was a result of God's will and His will be praised. He strolled over to his ornate oak desk and retrieved his fine black morning coat from the back of his polished leather chair. As the prophet adorned himself he cast a look at the grandfather clock at the corner of the room. The clock largest hand rested at the forty-five mark and the smallest hand rested comfortably upon the four mark. The prophet exhaled and buttoned the coat as he took a step out onto the open veranda and gazed upon his marvelous creation.

"_Beware the False Shepard…for he shall lead Her astray…not on my watch!" _He thought resolutely as he stepped back inside, locked the doors, and made his way deeper within the sprawling manner. Before long, the man found himself before a rather imposing and finely crafted pair of wooden doors. Entering the room, he found its occupants were already seated at the rectangular table and were in the midst of discussing unrelated matters when they stopped to acknowledge his entrance.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming here today, I know that there's quite a lot to be done before Tomorrow's celebration so we'll keep this as brief as possible." Comstock assured as he made his away to the head of the table before taking his seat. An attendant who stood in the corner of the room readily stood to the holy man's side and offered up some hot tea as refreshment to which the older man accepted.

"Lord, bless our gathering that it may be profitable unto you and our fair citizens, in the name of the Founder's, in the name of Christ, I pray...amen." The Prophet opened in holy reverence with hands clapsed together. The men about the room, their own hands clasped and eyes closed responded with a calm amen.

"Father Comstock, forgive me, but you look rather pale, are you well?" A balding man to his left asked with genuine concern as the others muttered and mumbled in agreement. Zachary sipped his tea and held up his free hand in reassurance.

"Mister Saltonstall, I assure you, I am quite well...I...I just have received new vision of the days ahead." The others gasped at this revelation and looked amongst themselves. Father Comstock's visions always held true, the time and location may have varied here and there, but the events he saw always came to pass. The only events which didn't were attributed solely to the Prophets unwillingness to allow such things to be.

"Please, Prophet, enlighteny us all with your wisdom! What have you seen?" asked a mustachioed man in a fine three-piece suit.

"If you _insist, _Mister Fink. As I said, I have received a vision from the archangel…this particular vision very same I saw twenty years ago…The False Shepard is coming to Columbia tomorrow." He declared with an air of solemnity.

The others were aghast, the often talked about and but never seen False Shepard, coming to their fair city? It had been years since the Prophet had warned them of such a possibility and since that time the majority of the Founders as well as Columbians had grown complacent in their belief that such a creature could exist, let alone disrupt their idyllic way of life. Yet the very man who had led them down this prosperous path had now come to tell that not only was the boogeyman real, he was coming and coming very soon.

"Very well, let him come! I'll have Columbia's forces at the ready! By this time tomorrow, we'll have every available member of Columbia's Finest scouring our city for the miserable wretch!" A man dressed in full military regalia on the table proclaimed with a powerful fist to the table.

"Actually General Hart, it would be wisest for you to direct your efforts to the Fair tomorrow." Comstock countermanded in a tone that didn't allow for debate. The general nodded and responded with a modest, 'yes sir', in acknowledgement that he would follow the city's ruler without question.

"Gentlemen, let me assure you, just as I have seen what the False Shepard can desecrate…I have seen what our Lamb can consecrate. But it all hinges on stopping the False Shepard here and now. Do I make myself clear!" Zachary leveled a powerful glare at each and every member sitting at the table. Several audible gulps could be heard and the Prophet was treated to several wide-eyed stares, but each gave indication of acceptance and understanding.

"Good, it bodes well for Columbia that we all play the part that the Lord has set out for each of us." Comstock said with a warm smile which skillfully any displeasure he may have felt in that very moment.

"That being settled, gentlemen what updates do we have with regards to Vigor production?" Comstock asked as he retrieved a portfolio from across the table marked 'confidential' in black stamped letters. As he adorned a pair of spectacles, the prophet softly turned its pages, carefully perusing in search of any detail that might leap out and snatch his attention.

"Well sir, the 'Murder of Crows' vigor that my colleague Mister Marlowe recently developed appears to be quite successful with Henry and his Fraternal Order of the Raven flock members. We've received nothing but glowing reports and little to no worries from the medical experts." Jeremiah Fink said jovially as he clapped his hand against the back of Jebediah Marlowe who smiled at announcing the success. Comstock merely glanced over to Henry Saltsonstall who subtly nodded to confirm the success before returning to the portfolio and review the full report on the 'Murder of Crows' final trials.

"Wonderful, praise be to God, we are that much closer to fulfilling our destiny. Tell me, what of the other vigors? Are we ready to move into full production of the full line?" The Prophet asked with a twinkle in his eye as he looked up with what only could be described as childlike glee. It had been a great leap to rally the entirety of Columbia behind his 'noble' cause, but the next phase could only succeed if its residents were _uniquely _prepared for the monumental tasks ahead.

"Unfortunately…o-our latest trials of the line have been met with less-than-optimal results." Marlowe admitted sheepishly while Jeremiah sat back in his seat and brought his hands together as he dared not meet the prophet's gaze.

"Less than optimal? Elaborate, would you kindly?" Comstock asked calmly as he readjusted himself in his seat.

"W-Well…the Shock Jockey was successfully converted to the vigor format and the 'Devil's Kiss" have been implemented to our Fire troopers with high success rates...unfortunately both are the most stable of the whole vigor line…and even then, we have identified…erm…_complications _in the experimental groups."

"Complications? What sort of complications?" The Prophet leaned in to fully assess the situation.

"Well Prophet, not to beat around the bush, but the recent iterations have caused fits of rage and insanity, not to mention the physical mutations from over exposure." Jeremiah added in a defeated demeanor. The financial implications from successful trials were monumental enough for Fink to make a rather substantial investment in the endeavor, the fact that it also aligned with the Prophet's agenda just sweetened the deal in the business man's mind. Before the Prophet could voice his frustration, Marlowe spoke up with a light smile.

"H-However, Father Comstock, I believe I have d-determined the cause and have issued the production of a new line of test vigors…our preliminary lab tests have proved quite promising thus far with this chemical difference…but I haven't had time to assemble vetted groups for clinical trials." Marlowe interjected and nodded at Jeremiah who affirmed his colleague's assertion as their leader stroked his beard in thought.

"What would you need from me to expedite this process and proceed into the next phase of clinical trials?" Zachary inquired as he removed his spectacles for rub his eyes in a mixture of worry, frustration, and a dash of hope. He then stood up as Marlowe fidgeted in his seat and moved over to the far window to glance out into the city. "Well?"

"Well, sir, if you approve, I have enough test samples to offer select members at the Fair tomorrow." Marlowe offered tentatively.

"Will we have the appropriate medical staff to handle any of these…_complications…_that you've mentioned?" Zachary asked not bothering to remove his gaze from the flying metropolis yonder.

"Of course sir, we'll have a full medical staff on standby." Marlowe assured with a newfound confidence. He was positively certain that if this new experimental line proved successful, Comstock would have what he needed to fulfill prophecy sooner than anticipated.

"Very well, you have my blessing to proceed accordingly. But tell me something, what of the line that had already been prepared for distribution?" The Prophet asked as he stepped back over to the table and returned to his seat. The prophet once more put on his reading spectacles and flipped through a few of the pages in the portfolio to land on a section detailing the distribution plans.

"Fink Industries, in conjunction with Marlowe Chemicals, has issued a formal recall to all of our distributors and purveyors throughout the city. Together, we've managed to reclaim ninety-five percent of the full shipment of vigors…as you can see in our report." Jeremiah ended as he motioned to the portfolio that Comstock had been reviewing.

"I see…and the other five percent?" The prophet asked as he closed the folder, having decisively seen enough of the data collected by his colleagues.

"Some have been lost in transit, others are reported missing, but we have our own people tracking these remaining items down to keep them from getting in the hands of the public." Marlowe added in hopes that his words would not serve to stoke the Prophet's fabled ire.

"All the same, work with the Columbia Police Authority and reach out to Chief Armstrong. Inform him of the situation and make the request for additional officers to lend a hand to your efforts. Should he resist your requests you are to notify me immediately and I will speak to him _directly._" Father Comstock directed at the two and shifted his attention to the only one of the group who hadn't spoken up once since his entrance.

"Very good sir." Marlowe offered meekly.

"Your will be done, Father Comstock." Jeremiah offered proudly and gave a haughty look to his comrade who merely rolled his eyes.

"Now then, Jacob? What have you to offer today? Have your efforts proved successful?" The Prophet posed calmly as the man in question shifted in his seat, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in apparent frustration.

"Unfortunately, Prophet, I do not come bearing tidings of good news." He responded in a defeated demeanor. It had been Jacob Vanderwald's responsibility to head up scientific and architectural sectors of the city upon the untimely demise of his predecessors'.

"The machine was unsuccessful? Is there nothing to be done?" Comstock asked with a heavy sigh as he brought his hands to his temples, a hint of frustration entering in his otherwise passive tone.

" These…_tears…_are what we've known since the beginning…they are highly unstable and extremely unpredictable. The machine barely began to close one before it shorted out and burst into flame. If I had deeper insight into the origin of these holes in the fabric of our reality, perhaps I might have a better understanding of their function and form. But as such, I've made very little to no progress in an attempt to control them via scientific means." Jacob offered grimly to which his fellows looked nervously about themselves, all except for Jeremiah.

"Well my boy, I don't know about the rest of you, but my brother Albert has been busy at work utilizing these tears to his advantage and, well, the results speak for themselves…" He started with a chortle, referencing his brother's well-known musical achievements. "In fact, I myself have received several inspirations from these _tears._ Perhaps we just accept them as they are, a delightful addition to our fair city with enormous financial potential!" The businessman added smugly, directing a domineering glance at the rather nervous Vanderwald who all at once grew very aggressive.

"That may be very well and good for you, but you also haven't had the displeasure of _directly interacting _with these tears like some of our fellow citizens…but then again you're probably well aware since a majority of my cases appear to originate from Finkton!" The scientists stood and leveled at the businessman who stood to meet the once meek man's challenge.

"Gentlemen, Gentlemen, let us not quarrel amongst ourselves lest we descend to the level of the _animals _we sought to escape below." The Prophet spoke up in an authoritarian tone and in an instant the confrontational atmosphere dissipated and the two people took their respective seats. Knowing full well the source of the tears, he had hopes that they would have find a means to control them in recent years but every attempt had failed spectacularly.

"While I concur with Mister Fink, these tears do have some practical application…I must further concur with Mister Vanderwald that they do pose somewhat of a hazard to the general populace unless approached with the proper precaution…we need to determine a means or method of controlling or eliminating them altogether." The Prophet started as he gave both Jeremiah and Jacob an equal look of appreciation before turning his attention to the group on the whole.

"We will continue to offer public service announcements and other notifications to warn our flock _not _to approach these manifestations. Though we should count ourselves extremely blessed by the Lord above, after all, most of these tears still dissipate almost as soon as they appear, correct Jacob?" Father Comstock dictated as he once again motioned for Jacob to speak his piece.

"Yes, most of our studies still show these tears _still _only present themselves for seconds at a time, of course with the occasional outliers lasting for much longer, but all disappear eventually." Jacob concluded rather scientifically as he cleaned his spectacles.

"I also have been receiving unconfirmed reports of erm...well..." Vanderwald continued, uncertain how to proceed.

"Yes Jacob, please share." Comstock asked intrigued.

"Certain instances of objects changing. A red pillow turns blue here, an orange claimed to have transformed into an apple there, as I said they are all unconfirmed at this time. But it is troubling..." Vanderwald concluded as he bit his lower lip in half thought and half worry at the implications of such claims. Comstock, knowing full well what Jacob had referred to was only slightly worried, but also knew it was nothing to be concerned with at the present time.

"See about the validity of these reports and then compile one for myself to review." Comstock charged calmly as Jacob nodded in affirmation.

"Thank you. Well then, I expect new public service announcements concerning these tears to be distributed as soon as possible…" Comstock said before a new thought occurred to him. "…I would also ask that we put out warnings for the citizens to keep on the look out for The False Shepard. Banners, signs, posters, pamphlets, flyers, anything and everything we can use to spread the word to keep vigilant…after all, with an informed public, it could assist us in excising this unholy cancer from Columbia's shores." The gentlemen all nodded and each made promises to effect their Prophet's changes post haste.

"Excellent, thank you all gentlemen, now before I exit in prayer and let you all adjourn I would ask for Mister Saltonstall to stay behind for a private chat. If you can spare the time." It wasn't so much of a request as a command, but Comstock insisted on keeping an air of politeness and decorum.

"Of course, anything you need I am here to serve, Father Comstock." The man in question acknowledged before he, and the others, all bowed their heads and clasped their hands together in prayer.

"God in Heaven, I humbly pray before you as one of your many servants here on high…I offer prayer that you would see us through these dark times. I pray that you would reveal our enemies so that they may be stricken down in accordance with your word. I give thanks for giving me the sight to create this marvelous city to carry out your will…and at last I pray for the Lamb, that you would see her through to that glorious destiny that you have set aside for her…in your son's holy name, Jesus Christ, I pray…amen."

"Amen!" came the hearty replies to the end of the prayer as the founders stood and bowed in reverence to their beloved Prophet and filed out of the room, all except for one Henry Saltsonstall who stood by one of the windows offering up a sideview down upon Monument Bay.

"Henry, I'm certain you are wondering why I have asked you to stay behind." Comstock spoke in a determined manner as the balding man looked at him with the utmost loyalty in his eyes.

"Sir, with all do respect, if you've asked me, it's to serve a higher purpose for the glory you, our city, and our Lord." Henry declared with fervor much to Comstock's delight.

"I'm comforted to hear your loyalty, there are others I often wonder…but you are my most loyal follower…I have a special task for you, if you and your Fraternal Order are up for the task." Comstock spoke darkly.

"Without question, Father Comstock. We are ready, willing, and able to serve." Henry assured his beloved Prophet with a toothy grin and Comstock responded by clapping his hand upon the balding man's shoulder.

"Excellent, because I fear I must call upon your services once again in a matter of life...and death."

* * *

Monument Bay

* * *

Booker DeWitt sat in the posh furnishings of the Columbia Tourism Boards' finest guide vessel, the _Joy of Lady Comstock._ According to the well-read tour guide, this was the very first tour-vessel constructed and flown by the Columbia Tourism Board and its maiden voyage carried none other than Lady Comstock herself who was said to have partaken in the tour quite frequently before her untimely demise. Booker wasn't insensitive the pain and suffering of others, but he didn't see the need to rehash an obviously horrific event, but what did he know. He was just a simple detective out of New York thrust high into the sky amongst a bunch hoity-toity and well-to-dos who, in any other realm, wouldn't have given him so much as the time of day. But here things were different, the people were somewhat of a a large departure from most of the world he knew below.

"_Let's see if these binoculars are any good." _The detective thought to himself as he brought them up to eyes and gathered his bearings to focus on the massive angel statue in the middle of the airspace. Booker was curious as he noted what appeared to be lines of metallic railing connecting at various floating points in and around the bay itself. It would require further investigation as they could provide an alternative transportation; perhaps the city's equivalent of a railroad like had seen when he first entered the city proper. Whatever the case were, Booker surmised they could provide very useful should he encounter barriers to more traditional means of accessing the island.

Reorienting the magnification device in his hands, the Pinkerton agent redirected his focus toward the statue of the island itself. The large statue was absolutely beautiful, akin to Lady Liberty back in New York City, she almost appeared to welcome weary travelers to a better land filled with opportunity and freedom. But Booker knew better, he knew that behind that beautiful façade hid the object of his goals. Still, DeWitt couldn't help but feel a sense of awe creep into the back of his mind. It was impressive enough to have massive monument in the midst of a bustling bay in New York, but to have something just as splendid and magnificent shining beacon of achievement and hope flying thousands upon thousands of feet in the air, it was a breathtaking sight to behold.

DeWitt scanned the structure and noticed what appeared to be windows adorning the front of the edifice; curiously enough it was at this point that the detective felt a button on the top of the binoculars and pressed it. Suddenly the magnification and clarity increased ten fold and Booker was able to capture far more detail that his previous efforts had furrowed his brows and concentrated on a particular section of the statue and his eyes widened in shock. He couldn't believe it and blinked as more of a gesture to himself that he wasn't going mad, but within the view of the binoculars caught a glimpse, if but for a moment, of an indistinguishable figure holding up what appeared to be some sort of sign. But just as soon as it appeared it had disappeared from his view. Any other man would have chalked it up to a spot of dust on the lenses, but Booker knew better than to make such foolish judgments. But one thing was clear; he would need to get a closer look.

"Excuse me, sir!" Booker spoke up garnering the attention of the well-dressed tour guide who had just wrapped up a conversation with a little boy and his grandfather, no doubt a memory that would be treasured for years to come, and stepped over to attend to the detectives curiosity.

"This may be a stupid question, but will be touching down on Monument Island as part of the tour?"

"I'm sorry sir. Even our own dismay, roughly six years ago now our beloved Prophet, Father Comstock, issued an official closure of the island due to the increased danger posed by the Vox Populi. This is as close as we can get, though the Columbian Tourism Board does make efforts to regain access each and every year. Once again, I am terribly sorry sir." The guide finished with a look of sadness.

"S'alright, no worry, just askin'." Booker reassured the man but internally was frustrated. Looks like it wouldn't be as easy as that, but then again when in his life had things ever been easy.

Booker spent the remainder of the tour discontented with the lack of access, but still making mental notes and observations about the various exit and entry points to the island, namely it appeared there was one access on foot but the main entry to appeared to be locked down by a pretty hefty gate and collection of barriers. He needed to determine how to breach the seemingly impenetrable perimeter, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it later. In Booker's mind, the tour wasn't a complete waste of time as he was able to, more-or-less, ascertain that the girl was definitely-maybe or someone at the very least was in there and could probably help him find her in this large flying bastion of civilization. He had also been able to get a birds-eye view of the grounds and a potential ground entry point for assualt, all of the details would hopefully come later with his meeting with those Lutece folk.

Once the tour dirigible docked back at the tour station, Booker noted that he had roughly forty-five minutes to get back to the hotel. Deciding not to take any chances by roughing it on foot, DeWitt, Booker asked the booth attendant to hail him a taxicab back to the hotel.

Booker arrived with five minutes to spare and tipped the driver for his excellent if not expeditious driving, and proceeded straight into the main lobby in hopes of catching an open elevator but before he could make his way over, the hotel staff member working the front desk interrupted him.

"Excuse me, sir, are you Mister Booker DeWitt?" The friendly enough staff member asked.

"Yeah, that's me, listen I've uh, had a long day and I'd like to get back to my room if you don't mind." Booker responded with very little patience.

"My apologies for disturbing you sir, but I wanted to let you know that a courier stopped by with a package for you." The man stoppd and retrieved the box from Chalifour's. "Here you go sir."

"Oh, thanks…listen sorry, pal I've just had a long day." Booker offered apologetically as the kind man smiled.

"It's no trouble, please don't let me disturb you any longer. Have a blessed evening." Booker nodded with thanks and used a free hand to retrieve the package from the counter and made his way to the elevators and soon enough he found himself back on his floor. He set both packages on the ground as he arrived at his door and went to unlock the entrance before he heard a voice emanate from within.

"Don't bother, the door is open!" A decidedly male voice spoke with exuberance. With a groan Booker picked up both packages and groaned as he popped the door open to reveal the red-headed pair sitting on the couch enjoying a fine dinner spread.

"Once you've taken care of your belongings, do join us for some dinner Mister DeWitt." Rosalind offered without sparing him much of a glance. DeWitt exhaled through his nose and dropped the packages off on the dresser in the bedroom and returned to the sitting room, untying his cravat and the top two buttons of his shirt in the process in an attempt at comfort, though how comfortable one could be when two near-strangers constantly broke into his dwellings remained to be seen.

"Tour took a little longer than expected, else I woulda been here a lot sooner." Booker offered as he took a seat and fixed himself a plate. "Say, how do you two do that?"

"Do what?" Robert asked slightly puzzled as he sipped his tea.

"I don't know, get in here without anyone the wiser for starters?" The veteran directed at the pair who merely looked at each other and chortled as if enjoying some private joke amongst themselves.

"Mister DeWitt…Booker…I assure you that our _abilities _are far greater than simply getting past locked doors." Robert offered to only further confuse the detective.

"Is it impossible for either of you to offer a straight answer?" Booker asked getting somewhat annoyed with the pair's antics.

"Then try asking a _straight _question, Mister DeWitt." Rosalind retorted blithely as she bit into a salad.

"Fine, how's this? If you can do all these things and see into the future and whatnot, why do you need me to get the girl?!" Booker charged with a tinge of venom in his voice. It was evident that these two were different than the average person, they had certain abilities, was it not impossible for them to accomplish this mission without his otherwise mundane assistance.

"Now _that _is a straightforward question…"

"Indeed, Robert would you mind or perhaps I can…"

"No, no, allow me."

"Very well."

"You see Mister DeWitt, while normally your astute observation would be correct in this instance neither myself nor Rosalind can retrieve the girl nor directly interact with her while within the City itself." Robert began and DeWitts anger began to dissipate, being replaced by genuine intrigue. At this point, Rosalind set her plate down and finished hercompanion.

"In fact, that's one very important aspect of your role here, DeWitt. There are many mysteries within this City and all of them have their answers…answers that are not, as of yet, available to us…but we believe when you retrieve the girl, all will come clear."

"So, what you're saying is, you're just as in the dark as I am?" Booker scratched the back of his head, feeling almost relieved that he might finally be on the same page as these guys for a change.

"Well yes…but no." Robert replied.

"Beg pardon?" Booker asked in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, in the sense that both you and we are unaware of details preventing us from doing _your _job…but 'no' in the sense that we know far more than you could imagine." Rosalind clarified for her brother who merely sighed and offered her a glare.

"Now, now, Rosalind, there's no need to be rude. He is, after all, helping us." Robert chastised after casting an apologetic look over to the detective who shrugged, finished what was left on his plate and walked over to the open doors leading out to the balcony.

"Is he? Last time I checked, he still hasn't made his decision." Rosalind retorted in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Is purposefully aggravating him going to endear him to our efforts then?" Robert stood akimbo, his full attention on the redhead seated on the couch front of him.

"Probably not. I know it wouldn't convince me." Rosalind offered up as a pseudo-apology. After spending considerable time with his counterpart, Robert knew this was as close as he was going to get to a formal apology and decided to drop the matter entirely.

"Okay, now that, that…whatever that was…is out of the way, I did some reconnaissance on Monument Island, not that it matters much." Booker sighed as he walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a small glass of bourbon.

"What were you able to determine?" Rosalind offered in a softer tone than before, much to Booker's surprise and Robert's delight.

"Not much I'm afraid…looks like the whole area's locked down pretty tight. Even if I could get there, it ain't gonna to be easy gaining access." He proclaimed as he downed the glass in a single shot in hopes of calming his nerves around these people, he didn't want to go around saying things that could end up pissing these people off. Who knew what acts they were capable of performing?

"You needn't worry, DeWitt, you _will _find a way. I'm quite certain of that." Rosalind quipped as she stood up and walked out onto the balcony followed closely by Robert. Booker shook his head and didn't bother unpacking what was just said and opted to follow the pair outside.

"Well, putting that aside, I think I caught a glimpse of the girl…speaking of which, here." Booker tossed the binoculars over to Rosalind who deftly caught them without looking. "Thanks letting me borrow 'em." Robert perked an eyebrow both at Booker's revelation at both seeing the girl and at interacting with Rosalind.

"I see…were you able to make contact or communicate?" Robert asked while giving a side-eye to his counterpart who firmly kept her gaze upon the detective.

"No, I was still in the tour…balloon…thing, and I only caught a glance. One minute she was there and the next she was gone." Robert paced lightly back and forth across the balcony rubbing his chin in concentrated thought.

"Curious…I wonder…"

"You don't think…"

"It could be result of…"

"But we never tested it before…"

"Still, we knew it was theoretically possible. The math and physics lend credence."

"Agreed…but how would they power it?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You don't mean?"

"I do indeed."

"Hey? HEY!? Mind keying me in on just what the hell you two are babbling about?" Booker snapped his fingers to get the pair's attention. The two snapped out of their mutual conversation and diverted their attention to the issue at hand.

"No need to worry Mister DeWitt, Robert and I were simply…hypothesizing…nothing that directly concerns you or the mission." The woman responded in a curiously calm tone.

"That being said, I would like to go over several suggestions for tomorrow's sortie." Robert offered as they sat down at the table on the balcony.

"By all means, please I've been waitin' to hear this since I first found you two in here." Booker took his seat and folded his arms as Rosalind was quite comfortable propping herself on the balcony.

"It's quite minimalistic in its approach I assure you. You see, through some very careful manipulation, their Prophet, Father Comstock, believes that you will be arriving in Columbia tomorrow and will be involved in an incident at the fairgrounds and has diverted quite a bit of resources in to, and in the immediate vicinity of, the fairgrounds tomorrow." Robert spoke in his calculated demeanor.

"So I avoid the fair, got it, then what?"

"No, on the contrary, you are still going to the fair, Mister DeWitt." Booker was puzzled, if this 'Father Comstock' knew he would be there, then why would he go? Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of his getting to the city earlier than expected? But before the detective could ask, Robert once again spoke as if sensing his confusion.

"Comstock is planning a special appearance at the fair itself, a speech before their _grand _raffle. Robert started and nodded to see if Booker was following along to which Booker, in return nodded and motioned for the man to continue. "So when the old man goes up to speak, the bulk of their forces will be dedicated to ensuring that he is safe which means…." Robert trailed off.

"Which means, that a lot of otherwise guarded points will be conveniently bereft of activity." Booker finished earning a wide grin from Robert.

"Exactly, leaving you to depart the fair without incident and slip into the tower undetected…mostly…" Robert finished as he adjusted his cuffs.

"Mostly? Robert, no offense, but your plan leaves a lot to be desired. Hell I was expecting maps of roads, big distractions, something better than just get in and get out!" Booker exclaimed. This was absurd, this was their master plan. No explicit instruction, no masterful explanation of avoiding detection, no hidden routes, no geographic layouts, just go in and find a way without being spotted. If they hadn't proven to be on the money thus far he would have told them to shove it right then and there.

"Yes we could try all of that, but I find it's often the simplest of plans that are often the most successful, don't you agree." Robert argued and Booker tilted his head with a side node and shrug.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess but…" Booker started but was sharply interrupted.

"No buts, Mister DeWitt. It is absolutely vital for you to vacate the premises _during _Comstock's speech. Any later, and you risk setting certain events in motion that will make the accomplishment of your goal nigh impossible.

"Right, leave during the old man's speech, make my way to the tower, grab the girl, get the hell outta Dodge, got it! Anything else?" Booker asked, still fighting the strong tendrils of doubt weaving into his mind. This was ludicrous, he still wasn't certain he could even trust the odd pair let alone align himself to their cause. But they had done up to this point had been for his benefit, why should they stop now.

"Funny you should ask Mister DeWitt, if you'll follow me." Robert asked and walked over to beside the couch and retrieved a glass flask filled with a a mysterious concoction that, if Booker didn't know better, appeared to be changing all kinds of colors and shimmering with light and vibration all at once.

"Rosalind and I brought this for you." He handed the corked glass flask to the detective who eyed the contents with doubt.

"Great, umm thanks. What the hell am I supposed to do with it?" Booker asked as he brought the flask up to his face for a closer look.

"You're supposed to drink it, Mister DeWitt, not ogle it." Rosalind quipped as she stepped back inside.

"I kinda figured that. So what is this stuff then?" Booker asked as he uncorked the glass flask and took a whiff and discovered that, whatever this was, had a powerful odor, not displeasing just incredibly powerful.

"We call it a 'Lutece's Infusion', it will help you better achieve your goals and adapt to life up here in Columbia…amongst other things." Robert trailed off hoping that Booker would be too preoccupied with the concoction and to his relief, his hopes paid off.

"Alright, so um when do I take it?"

"Right now if you'd like?"

"Okay, here goes," Booker brought the flask up to his mouth and dry swallowed. "Cheers." He offered lamely as he proceeded to down the entirety of the flask and whipe his mouth clean. This 'infusion' was a curious brew, it wasn't like anything Booker had ever imbibed but it sure had a powerful kick. The detective took a deep breath and set the flask down on the table. There was the familiar rush of pleasurable warmth that flooded his core, the very same that he received after a particularly good glass of scotch on a cool evening.

"Right, so now…" Booker stopped as he felt his mouth go dry. He couldn't explain it but it felt as if his entire body was being constricted by a foreign force, a bind that grew tighter and tighter with each passing second as if aiming to choke the very life out of him. Booker looked down at his hands and noticed a peculiar golden glow engulf his hands. Then without warning a terrible mixture of painful sensations exploded through his finger tips and into his palms. The detective gasped in agony as tendrils of the terrible sensations snaked their way up his arms spread throughout his body. Incidentally as the pain spread throughout, so too did the golden glow.

"W-Wha…what's happen…" Booker managed before stumbling away and collapsing to the floor in overwhelming agony, the gold now filling his peripherals. He felt as if every inch of his skin were being electrified, his insides felt as though they were burning in the heart of a roaring furnace. He attempted to scream out for help but he soon felt a strange weightless sensation, his throat felt as though he were drowning in a never ending ocean. His eyes wide, he thrashed desperate to escape this fresh hell and he mustered the strength to reach an arm up to summon any sort of help or release from this torment. Robert and Rosalind come to stand on either side. Robert knelt down spoke with a calm voice.

"Just relax Mister DeWitt. The infusion that you just ingested is strengthening your already impressive genetic fortitude, in addition to providing some extra protection. You just need to push through it." Booker only responded with a wide-eyed look as a new sharp pain shot up his spine and he briefly lost consciousness. Booker's eyes opened a little at the feeling of being lifted off the ground and noted that both red-heads were standing at either side, the male looking with concern and the female looking with a scientific intrigue.

"Oh good, he'sstill with us." Rosalind spoke with hint of shock in her voice.

"Oh Rosalind dear, you sound surprised?"

"I am."

"Surprised?"

"Indeed I am surprised."

"That it worked?"

"That it didn't kill him."

"Oh Rosalind, I would think that you would have known better after…oh look he's coming to" Robert noted as Booker desperately fought the darkness of rest as his body screamed for his surrender.

"No, I think he's struggling to stay awake," Rosalind retorted and focused her attentions on DeWitt "You need your rest, your body has gone through a genetic reprioritization, that's bound to take a lot out of anyone."

Booker's eyelids fluttered, it was clear he was losing this battle and any attempts he made to move and he managed to only utter a few words before losing consciousness for the remainder of the night.

"A-Annabelle...I-I'm sorry..."

* * *

Finkton – Midnight

* * *

A dimly lit room was a buzz with various activities of various men and woman of many races, all working together toward a common goal. At the center of the room stood a shorter woman in particular looking over a diagram of Monument Island's central attraction. How she came upon these documents would be between her and the men who died to retrieve them.

"Do the men know what to do?" The woman asked without hint of anything other than raw passion for the job at hand.

"Yes ma'am, they've been training all week and they know the price for failure."

"Good...this time tomorrow, we'll have Columbia by the throat and there won't be a damn thing that old bastard can do to stop us." The man nodded in agreement and was summarily dismissed to go back to his duties as the woman once more poured over the document with a malicious grin.

"_You tell me Prophet…you see this comin'? You see US coming. We comin' for your precious lamb...yeah and then we comin' for you, and we ain't stoppin' for nothin' less than blood."_

* * *

**Endnote: Again this is a different chapter than the others as we momentarily shift focus, wanted to try to capture some of the behind the scenes action. Again I hope you all enjoyed it. Next time, we'll see Booker at the fair, ascending the tower, and even finding Elizabeth if the writing works well. **

**Thank you all for reading and following along and for your reviews, they mean a lot. **

**Until next time!**

**TheLifeLongEditor**


	8. Chapter 8: Our State Fair

**Chapter VIII: Our State Fair Is A Great State Fair**

**Author's Note: As always, thank you for coming this far! Here we get to see the great Columbian Founder's Fair! Fun and excitement abounds! **

**Also, as mentioned in my profile, this is the last chapter update for a little bit, I am going on a much needed vacation and as such will not be in a position to update next weekend or the following weekend. Don't fret though, I'll be back at the regular schedule in no time and, hopefully, with another story or two fresh in my mind to write as well. Needless to say this Chapter is sort of my gift for you in thanks for you being patient with me and for following along thus far!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, that fortune belongs to Ken Levine:**

* * *

"_The Hell was in that drink? Where the hell are my clothes?!" _Were the first startled thoughts from one very confused Booker DeWitt as he awoke from what was otherwise a seemingly restful slumber. To his surprise upon regaining consciousness his first feelings, outside of extreme alert, were those of complete and utter refreshment as the detective was decisively ready to meet any challenge head on; a surprising turn of events considering his last conscious memories of the previous night were violent and nauseating. Luckily the Luteces decided to answer Booker's question in the form of a telegraph on the dresser next to the boxes.

The pair left a hint clarity that they had taken care of his belongings and that everything he needed was contained in the packages he brought back with him in the hotel and also left further instruction to meet them at some restaurant named '_The Blue Ribbon' _on his way to Monument Island. At this point, he was certain he would find his way toward the eatery along his journey, those two had a habit of making things happen regardless of whatever decision he happened to make, heck for all he knew they had foreknowledge that he was reading this note right now. Still it begged the question, if he decided not to help them, would they allow him to just walk away?

Booker opened the first package he picked up Chalifour's and found a completely assembled wardrobe of finely made attire, complete with undergarments, brown leather shoes, and a matching dark brown leather belt. Booker changed and stood before the vanity mirror at the other end of the room. The ensemble wasn't half bad in Booker's estimation, in fact had he the funds in New York he probably would have picked something similar if not identical himself. White cuffs and a white Victorian collar buttressed the comfortable black shirt, complete with a fresh red ascot which booker tied loosely beneath the folded down collar. The twins had further selected a faintly patterned double-breasted olive green vest, which Booker attached the mysterious pocket watch in the same fashion as he had done yesterday. His trousers were a new-fashioned black and white pinstripe affair; overall DeWitt felt his clothes would still allow for him to blend in seamlessly with the crowds.

What surprised the Pinkerton detective most was when he opened the package from the gun shop. Inside the parcel lay a brand new hip holster, which Booker attached to the left side of his belt. Next was a complete rig, brown fine leather with a holster on the left side and an ammunition pouches on the right, a strange attachment was situated in the center of the connecting piece worn on the back, the purpose of which perplexed the detective but it fit like a glove without need of readjustment. At last there were two boxes, the first one contained a brand new C96 Mouser that caused Booker to grin; they must have known he would lose his. The next box, rich brown and polished, contained a hefty revolver with a paper tag which read:

_The Brand New Paddywhacker: Hand Cannon!: By Fink!_

Booker weighed the weapon and looked down its sights, it was a sturdy weapon, powerful in build and in force no doubt. He loaded each weapon and placed the remaining ammunition in the side pouches and holstered the Hand Cannon in the side holster. As Booker collected his things to leave, he reached into his wallet and retrieved the badge that read '_Pinkerton Protective Patrol 727'._ A part of the man was proud to wear the badge, the police didn't seem to want him but the Pinkerton's sure had use for his talents and they paid him half-way decent for them too. With a grin, the detective attached it to the upper left side of his rig, to proudly display his occupation. He hoped it would ward off any questions about his armed stated given the national reputation of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Once Booker collected the accouterments that would be necessary for this job, namely the key and the coin purse, he checked over his appearance and vacated the hotel room and made his way down to the lobby.

He quickly noticed a sign that advertised 'shuttles' to the fairgrounds for easier access, when he inquired as to the cost of such traversal the staff member laughed and assured the detective that the service is complementary given the holiday. Booker hadn't felt particularly hungry so he opted to skip breakfast all together and head outside and get to the fair as quickly as possible. He followed the directional signs conveienetly placed for guests to follow without incident until he found what he was looking for. It looked a like a large flying boat, once heavily armored but now stripped of its standard weaponry in being relegated for civilian use as noted by the riveted patches on the underside of the hull. The marvelous craft was propulsed by a set of three engines on each side of the hull, flames burning some unknown fuel keeping the thing a float; but the craft appeared to be right at home in the air. A man in a fine uniform assisted Booker in stepping up onto the craft and Booker accepted gladly.

Once a few more guests had boarded, the crafted departed with the staff member at the helm as they departed the Hotel grounds and made their way toward the illustrious fairgrounds he had heard so much about. The morning was cool and sunny, perfect weather for the detective. Of course he wondered if this was the regular climate for a city thousands of feet in the sky, after all they could make buildings fly, just what else could these people do. Booker was left to ruminate to himself for a little while as the craft made its way to the fairground, most of the guests on-board consisted of parties of two or three, which was just as good for the detective as he wanted to be alone to steel himself for the day to come. With furrowed brow, the Pinkerton retrieved his watch under the guise of checking the time, but he wanted to see that picture again. The minute he saw her face it was as if his heart stopped for a brief moment. He internally chastised himself for these feelings, after all these years he was honestly surprised he felt anything at all like that again.

"_I can't believe the day is here…finally it'll all be clear, once I meet you." _He thought as as he traced the rim of the watch with his thumb.

The floating boat deftly approached an aerial dock just outside of a primary entrance to the fair. The pilot quickly retrieved a boarding plank and secured his end to the craft as an attendant with the same style of uniform secured it on his end and soon enough the guests began to file out, Booker among them. The man welcomed each one with a handshake and soon boarded the craft as the Booker and the others made their way up the stairs toward the entryway, but something startling stayed the detectives feet. Two posters, the first of which was damn near impossible in the fact that there was no possible way it could have existed.

"_You Shall Know The False Shepard By His Mark" _Read the first startling poster to the left of the entrance, one amongst many advertising for the fair. It depicted a demonic hand reaching out into the flames with the letters A.D. burned in the front of the palm. Booker looked down at his own hand and at the letters inscribed; it was ludicrous, impossible. He shoved his right hand into his pocket out of anxiety, as he continued walking up the stairs his eyes drifted rightward toward a large poster depicting the grim reaper, a lamb, and that giant statue. It read "_The False Shepard Seeks Only To Lead Our Lamb Astray!" _

"Who the hell is this lamb? And how did they…no, no, get a grip DeWitt." Booker muttered to himself and passed through the open gates to the fair where upon he was greeted to the sight of rows upon rows of various booths peddling various wares and merchandise while others offered up various means of entertainment. At the forefront a man was calling for any and all willing to hear to come and see the newest offers as two people tossed fire and what appeared to be electricity at one another. The detective shook his head and chalked it all up to smoke and mirrors and carried on walking down one of the paths.

It was the most impressive fair he had ever attended in his entire life, featuring items that he had never seen before. One booth in particular advertised something called, _Thompson's Clockwork Toys._ On display were a number of wind-up toys; a rabit wearing a red and white clothes, an owl with a red collar and balls under its feat, an elephant dressed in some sort of Indian garb with what appeared to be a cannon on its back, and what appeared to be a ladybug with three jewels on its head indicating eyes or something along those lines, but the beautiful design and color used on the wings was absolutely spectacular. Booker let the man know he did good work, which appeared to lift his spirits as he had a rather dour look about his face up until that point, a look that quickly overcame DeWitt as he turned around to continue walking.

"Ah, playing with toys I see?" A very sinister and familiar voice asked from beneath a hooded robe. It was the man from the train and Booker kept as much control over himself as he could muster as he so desperately desired to test the power of his new 'Paddywhacker' on this bastard.

"You again! What the hell do you want?" Booker hissed as he swiftly ducked down a side path diverting passed a few booths, one in particular advertsing Columbia's gayest quartet, presented by Albert Fink to sing "God Only Knows." Booker had never heard the song before, but it held a nice tune if the quartet were anything to go off of, but unfortunately that man didn't just disappear as he had in the train.

"Oh it's not what _I _want, it's what _she _wants." He responded darkly as he came to stand beside the aggravated veteran.

"Look I'm here, ain't I?" Booker nearly screamed at the man, something about him unsettled the detective's nerves something fierce. He had seen the horrors of war and the worst that man had to offer, but something about this hooded freak set the detective's mind a blaze with paranoia.

"Yes, you are, and dare I say you've even gone native. You look better than I last saw you." The man appraised the detective and received a scoff in response.

"Look pal, I highly doubt you came here for chit-chat, so cut the crap. What do you or she or whatever...look what the hell do you all want?" Booker asked, his patience razor thin.

"Just to remind of what's a stake if you fail to complete your task as arranged. And to make sure you aren't thinking about reneging…" The cloaked figure responded without a hint of emotion; Booker on the other hand faught the impulse to visually convey his shock. He would play this straight and deny everything if pressed.

"You don't think I know that already! Hell, you were the ones who wanted me to come here and get the girl, and now I'm here. Now you're wondering if I'm gonna back out? Listen, just let me do my job and butt out." Booker brusquely retorted, earning a chuckle from his companion. "What's so funny?"

"Mister DeWitt, between you and me, I find this whole situation quite humorous. But I don't care who you side with…but that's neither here nor there…the fact is, _she _will care...and if she finds out you've turned coat well..." The man paused and looked up to the sky and then back down to the ground and once more to the detective. "...Do your job DeWitt, and you might come out of this alive." Booker went to ask what the hell he meant but the man disappeared as Booker blinked, causing the detective to mildly curse and continue walking forward with his head down in deep thought about his actions up to present and how he was to proceed forward. Only the cries of a child broke his intense focus. He looked up to see what this child had been babbling about and his eyes went wide with a primal fear; a sentiment shared by many others observing the booth.

Below the wide banner displaying _The Security of The Future, Today!" _Stood a large hybrid of man and machine, the very same he had seen in his dream before that strange woman waltzed into his office. Booker heard the presenter refer to this creation as a 'Handyman', oddly enough the creature didn't seem quite as imposing as his dream had led him to initially believe. As Booker stepped closer he noted that the creature appeared to in pain, even frightened of the attention. The Handyman locked eyes with DeWitt and at that instance Booker knew this wasn't a creature to be feared so much as pitied, for what sort of tortured existence must such an un-Godly fusion of man and machination borne The Handyman appeared to stare deep into the detective's soul as his brown eyes met Booker's green, almost as if an unspoken connection had been made yet the outcome of such a connection would remain a mystery so long as the creature remained chained up.

Breaking eye contact, Booker shifted his attention away from the 'Betterman' to get a better look at what else this city had to offer from a security standpoint. Standing on the left side of the stage of the stood a completely metal clockwork man. Its head was round with two glass portals on either side to allow light to pass through. An unassuming face had been sculpted with a mustache, nose and pupil-less eyes with a lever on its cheek, no doubt to gain access to its inner workings. The body itself was a polished bronze with the front side of its cylindrical main body adorned with the same design as found on the radios being sold around complete with the large speakers and a glowing dial with three knobs in a triangular pattern. Based on the sign hanging around its head, this man-made creation was a "Night Watchman". Its arms appear riveted, like the appearance of the ancient armor once used by his enemies in the orient.

Off to the right was something directly out of a nightmare. The body of a skinny teenager fitted with a bronzed helmet bolted down into the neck of the colonial like attire he wore, no doubt penetrating the neck of the wearer. The helmet itself was mostly featureless save for a pronounced nose, a two rather large sound horns on either side. Talk about freak of man's imagination, Booker couldn't make heads or tails of the fusion and its title, _Boy of Silence, _didn't exactly do much to clarify his confusion. More importantly how could sucha grotesque being help reassure the safety and security of the general populace, unless it could listen someone to death, the thing didn't look like it could put up much of a fight.

The veteran moved on and decided to take a look at some of the other booth's while he still had time on his hands. There were many booths similar to carnivals back home offereing up shooting galleries for the local villain; it was cute if not a tad disturbing. Eventually after wading through a few crowds, DeWitt found himself standing at the forefront of a crowd enamored by an exuberant man's exageratted claims for absolute control. Not particularly caring for the strange displays or the projected footage being shown, DeWitt began to move off when a large advertisement for the bottle caught his attention. The detective stepped clear off to the side and away from the remainder of the crowd to get a closer look at this otherwise unassuming advert of a woman bringing her hand to her forehead as she arched over an image of a heart with a knife cutting directly through the center. It was peculiar and definitely befitting a city in the sky, Booker was sure of it as he began to move off before a soft voice stopped him.

"Say Mister, would you like a sample?" A young and rather buxom woman wearing a dress with a surprisingly revealing neckline for the day and age asked innocently enough.

"'Scuse me?" Booker asked still baffled that someone of her obvious charms would have given someone like him the time of day, let alone make some sort of offer.

"A sample of the newest mesmerizing vigor? I mean they say we're not supposed to give out samples without having you checked out…but you appear to be _quite _ a healthy specimen, if I do say so myself. So...whaddya say?" She said with a hint of a seduction to her otherwise sweet voice. Booker wasn't the type to easily taken in by a woman flashing her wares; especially one in such a conservative city as Columbia but something in her voice compelled him to accept.

"Uh, sure, yeah give me one of those." He accepted as the woman handed him a glowing green bottle.

"Be sure to drink the whole bottle for its _desired _effect." She added with a wink as she once more gave the detective an appraising glance to which the man offered a light blush and nod before uncorking the glass bottle and downing the contents within. Once done, Booker felt a wave of cool and warmth wash over his body, bringing him sensations of pure joy and relaxation.

"With just a whisper…they're all _ears_…" The woman offered in that sultry tone as she drew a heart with her fingers. Booker began to sway as the relaxed feelings had severely reduced his balance. As the woman moved her hands through the air she left a green trail of light until the full shape of a heart was formed. The sweet lady blew a kiss through the heart and her body was soon bathed in that same green glow as she giggled. Booker blinked rapidly and suddenly his vision returned normal.

"Dolores, come here I think one of our guests has passed his medical examination!" The purveyor of the booth requested.

"RIGHT AWAY SIR!" The girl responded and flashed Booker another smile before leaving him to his thoughts. Booker simply nodded and moved on, rubbing his hands that, if he didn't know better, appeared to have that same green glow. Booker attempted to follow the lady but was distracted by the ringing bells of a nearby clocktower, followed quickly by several speakers making their announcements.

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION ALL! FATHER COMSTOCK IS ABOUT TO MAKE HIS COMMENCEMENT SPEECH! WE ASK THAT ALL FLOCK MEMBERS MAKE THEIR WAY OVER TO THE MAIN STAGE!" The speaker closest to the detective bellowed as others shouted various permutations. The massive throngs of fairgoers began making their way toward the directed path and Booker saw this as his opportunity to make a quiet getaway without drawing too much attention to himself.

Booker steered his path to the sides of the massive crowds, keeping his head down and his movements controlled, the less he stuck out the less likely he was going to be stopped and dragged kicking and screaming to this prophet's speech. After a bit of time, he managed to escape the main fairgrounds and slowly approached a main gate locked behind another strange clockwork man integrated in what appeared to be one of Columbia's newest vending machines if the booths were anything to go off.

"Sorry Pal, this street is closed by order of Father Comstock! Only dignitaries and very important personnel are allowed entrance. Best head back and attend the commencement speech, citizen!" Came an artificially cheerful voice from within the mechanical creation as its arms flailed in hyper-exaggerated fashion.

"I'm guessin' that don't mean me." Booker said more to himself than anything else and rubbed his jaw in thought. Suddenly he thought back to that projector and the vigor had imbibed. The detective brought his hand up and concentrated his will into summoning the power of the vigor and behold it came to his fingertips as a ghostly green figure flying about his wrist and palm. With a grin the detective cast his hand toward the machine and willed the vigor to do its work and the siren-like figure exploded from his hand and flew directly into the road-blocking automaton. The machine took on a ghostly green glow and began to automate in strange ways.

"Ah, well, if it isn't Senator Saltonstall, my apologies, please pass without delay…odd that I didn't recognize you before!" The gates unlocked without any fanfare and DeWitt didn't wish to question the bewitched automaton, instead opting to pass through without delay and closed the gate promptly behind him. Of course, as the expression goes, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"HEY, YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, IDENTIFY YOURSELF!" A member of Columbia's Constabulary shouted as he made to draw his weapon and booker raised his hands with a curse. He was too taken in with his own success that he hadn't thought about the fact that there would be guards stationed at most major entrances and exits. The officer's eyes went wide as he approached the detective and grabbed his right hand.

"My God, it-it's you…the False Sheppard…Father Comstock was right…" The officer sputtered nervously as he went to draw his firearm. For DeWitt, it was now or never and so the detective grasped the officer's head with his right hand and used the vigor once more, hoping it would have beneficial results. The policeman broke Booker's hold and gripped his head tightly with a yelp of pain before straightening up in a highly abnormal manner.

"Uh…hey buddy, you okay?" Booker asked with his hand ready draw the Hand Cannon from its holster at the first sign of aggression.

"Of course citizen how can I assist you today?" The man responded with an eerily monotone voice as he listed to and fro. Booker offered a 'huh' in response, looks like the vigor had just as much affect on people as it did machine

"Let's see…are there any more of you people on this street?" He asked with a measured tone, he wasn't quite sure how the properties of this vigor worked and didn't want to risk drawing the attention of any more officers than this one.

"Of course, Father Comstock warned our superiors yesterday of the False Shepard's arrival and had the Chief beef up security. No one's getting in or out through conventional means." The policeman responded without any hint of emotion.

"Wait, you said conventional, I take it that means there are other ways?" Booker asked with intrigue.

"Well in accordance with Father Comstock's edict, we cleared the Sky-Lines and closed them off to all but official police use." The officer answered.

"So how do you guys use these Sky-Lines?"

"Simple…with this. Just came in the other day." The officer reached down and offered Booker a strange and beautifully crafted contraption. A mixture of gilded metal and polished wood, there was a perfect universal grip for any user that included a trigger to engage the triple-bladed gear at the front.

"What is this thing?" Booker asked as he took the device in his left hand tested it out its weight and versatility.

"It's a Sky-Hook. Fellow by the name of R.J. Pickwick made the thing. Comes in handy when flushing out those dirty Vox." Officer spoke as DeWitt swung the device a few times and pulled the trigger to test its functionality. "Will that be all sir, can I attend my duties?"

"Huh, oh, yeah…knock yourself out." Booker replied not really paying attention to the officer at this point, more enamored by this tool. If those 'Sky Lines' were the same he saw all over Columbia yesterday, this tool could be his ticket for a quick entry and exit from Monument Island. The detective noticed that the hypnotized police officer was no longer standing in front of him and turned his head to watch the officer slam himself headfirst into a wall, rendering him instantly unconscious with a bloody gash in his head for his efforts.

"Woah, shit!" Booker exclaimed at first in shock, then in regret as he remembered his words. "Guess I oughta be careful with this thing."

Booker raised the Sky-Hook up above his head and pulled the trigger all the way down and held it there. The gears began to wind and the three blades began to rotate at higher speeds. All at once the detective felt a strong pull from the device that caused him to run into a sprint and soon enough the bewildered Pinkerton found himself sailing up through the air and riding along a Sky-Line high above the street."

"Woah, woah, woah, shit…d-damn, damn thing must be magnetized." He said as he fought the natural urge to scream in fear. Soon enough the terror of being suddenly and violently lifted off the ground gave way to the joy and freedom being afforded to following the rail at high speeds. Impressively enough, DeWitt's arm wasn't suffering from the experience at all.

After following the Sky-Line for a while, Booker saw up ahead that the line would make a sharp downward curve to the right, probably to loop him back around, but up ahead running perpendicular was another path that offered further progression. Booker thought about his options and figured at this point he didn't have much to lose by trying. As the veteran came closer to the curve he released and pulled the trigger in quick succession and he found himself being launched from the current Sky-Line onto a new rail seemingly leading him closer to Monument Island if distance and perspective were anything to go anything off of in this city.

"All right, now we're talkin'. Perhaps this job ain't so bad after all." He said to himself as he sped down the rail with a lighthearted sense of adventure that he hadn't felt in a long time.

After a while speeding down rails and leaping from one line to the next, Booker was confident he had gotten the hang of using this Sky-Hook; he'd event figured out how to get the damned thing to reverse itself on the line, though he wasn't certain how that would be useful in a pinch at present. The Sky-Line he currently traversed was coming to a sudden and abrupt end as the path branched to circle back at the end of a street and so Booker released and flew down onto the street below, landing with a crouch a grunt.

"Oof, why do I get the feelin' my knees are going to be screaming at me by the time this is all over." He muttered to himself as he walked up to a large sculpted concrete archway diplaying an inlaid marquee reading "Monument Island" with all potential arrival times marked as closed. Fortunately, off to the detective's right, was none other than _'The Blue Ribbon' _the very same restaurant in that note those two left for him. Out of habit from the military, Booker moved to place the device around his back to leave his hands free, but before he could stop himself he felt the device hook into the rear of his rig, almost as if it had been designed to carry the Sky-Hook in such a fashion when not in use. Booker didn't dwell on this in stead he took in the sight of the restaurant and sighed.

"Figures…like a rat in a maze." DeWitt cursed and walked beyond the front podium, complete with a diagramed statuette of a pig, which detailed the choicest of cuts and made his way into the closed yet surprisingly unlocked establishment. Having stepped inside, Booker noted three viewing stations at the far wall described as the 'Rise of Columbia!'. The detective shrugged and gave each a view, leaving DeWitt to come away with a crash course in Columbia's History from the beginning through its tumultuous position with the United States, and even discussed those same rumors of secession.

"Well look at that, he's up and moving about unabated." A familiar snarky feminine voice cut through his concentration as he wheeled around to spot Robert playing the role of a bartender while Rosalind held up a server's tray with a strange red bottle.

"Indeed, just as I said he would." Robert responded with an almost cheeky satisfaction.

"Look, are you two gonna keep followin' me around?" Booker asked as he stepped up to the bar and took a seat, settling on a glare toward the gentleman.

"Follow you. I say, old sport, it's _you _who happens to be following _us_...or at the very least, our instructions." Robert retorted as he continued to clean one of several glasses littering the bar.

"Right, ya got me there. So what the hell did you two do to me last night?" Booker asked in a matter of fact tone, not failing to notice the exchange of looks between the man and the woman.

"We were simply…" Robert started.

"…offering some much needed assistance. One would think you would be grateful." Rosalind responded cynically as she approached the pair of men by the bar.

"Well, at least as grateful for imbuing one with a magnetic repulser field amongst other _benefits_." Robert muttered to himself but it didn't quite make it to Booker's ears as he continued.

"Forgive me, but other than knock me on my ass, I don't see how it's helped." Booker snidely offered in response, but was honest all the same. He didn't really see the benefit of that concoction other than a good night's rest.

"Oh you will, Mister DeWitt…you will. But for now there are more important things to get to…namely, Heads or Tails?" Robert slide a coin toward the perplexed detective who merely looked at the two as if they had each grown another head.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Booker began to ask but was interrupted with a huff by Rosalind.

"Flip the coin and call the side…" She instructed.

"…Heads or Tails." Robert finished while shooting his partner a glare that seemed to suggest for her to calm down. Booker's eyes darted between the two and shrugged with a sigh and flipped the coin toward Robert who deftly caught it in the palm of his hand.

"Tails." Booker confidently called and Robert opened his palm to verify the results. With raised eyebrows and wide-eyes he looked to Booker, then Rosalind, then back to the coin in his hand.

"Well Robert? Are you going to share or are we going to have to wait all day in suspense?" Rosalind spoke with a hint of cheek in her tone and a glimmer of mischievousness in her eye.

"I-It's…Tails…" Robert stammered and Rosalind's jaw dropped but for a moment. Booker was getting a little uncomfortable with this game and decided to put an end to it.

"Look guys, I've got a girl to rescue, now you asked me here for a reason and I sure it hope it wasn't to play a simple coin game." Booker directed at both oddballs who shared one last look of surprise before returning their attention to the waiting detective.

"Yes you're quite right. We did want you to stop off here to offer you an armament to aid you in your 'quest'." Rosalind clarified as she stepped up to Booker's left and offered the contents of the servers' tray. Booker took hold of the bottle and examined its unique design and color scheme; a red decisively female devil with horns herself appeared to be blowing a flam into her arm while her tail wrapped around a picture of the face of the devil himself.

"Devil's Kiss, huh?" Booker read the etched letters off the bottle. "Is this like that other Vigor I got at the fair?"

"In a sense yes, but this one has far more prominent capabilities that will aid you in your more 'violent' tendencies." Rosland offered politely to which the detective smirked and grunted in acknowledgement.

"Look, I'm trying to get through this without violence if all possible." Booker replied somewhat solemnly as he thought about to yesterday's baptism. It probably wouldn't do well to get off to a brand new start only to fall back into old habits.

"That's very well and good, but unfortunately desperate times call for unusual and effective measures...and you will _need _said measures." Rosalind spoke in a purely objective fashion as she gestured for him to go on and drink the vigor.

"Well, you only live once." Booker mumbled and uncorked the red bottle. "Bottom's up." He drank the entirety that the bottle had to offer and set it down on the bar.

Within moments his vision blurred red and the detective launched himself away from the bar as a wave of immeasurable heat overcame his body. He began to cough violently as the scent of thick smoke filled his nostrils and air passageways. The detective looked down at his hands and began to scream in pain and horror as both appendages burst into flame and began to sear away the flesh to the point where only bone remained. Then, in a flash of brilliant white light, the flames disappeared, as did the heat and pain, and his hands returned to normal.

"That wasn't no…Christ, what the hell was that!?" Booker asked the now empty room and cursed to high heaven. As the day wore on, Booker became more and more uncertain that these two were out to help him. Shaking his head, the detective noted the door to the kitchen was open and proceeded through the back of the restaurant and out onto a balcony. Noticing that there weren't any clearly devised methods of making it over to the rooftops across the way, Booker observed the freight hooks protruding from the building lining the path to the alley and retrieved his Sky-Hook. He had a theory, but there was only one way to find out and Booker was determined to continue forward as he aimed the device upward and pulled the trigger. In a flash, he was pulled from the balcony and hung from the freight hook.

"Woah…okay, easy does it." Booker calmed himself as he leapt from one hook to another until being propelled downward from the final freight hook onto the rooftop below. As booker made his way across the surface, he heard the unmistakable sound of engines roaring. He turned and saw that three flying craft similar to the one that brought him to the fair had pulled up to the far side of the rooftops, fortunately there was just enough fog on his side that left him otherwise obscured fully from view.

"ALL RIGHT YOU LAZY LOT! PROPHET SAYS HE'LL BE COMING THIS WAY! WE NEED TO SET UP A PERIMETER AND MAKE SURE THE FALSE SHEPARD DOESN'T GET NEAR MONUMENT ISLAND! WE'RE GONNA SHOW HIM JUST WHY THEY CALL US COLUMBIA'S FINEST!" The man shouted as the heavily armed soldiers cheered and leapt onto the rooftops. Booker knew it would be undue trouble to stick around and quickly sprinted across the rooftops as more gunships armed with fixed weapon platforms and heavily armed officers arrived.

Booker leapt from the far edge and began jumping from hook to hook until he landed on the back veranda of another high society establishment. The back doors were unlocked, which was just as well as the soldiers began making their way to the edge of the rooftop and would have otherwise spotted him had he nowhere else to go. The veteran made his way deeper inside the structure where he heard a couple arguing.

"What do you expect those poor negroes to do? How they treat them—it was bound to happen!" A female voice declared righteously.

"Violence is not a foregone conclusion!" He responded with equal passion. Booker attempted to sneak by them but the woman far more observant than he gave her credit and with a startled gasp, she pointed directly at him causing the gentleman to turn to see who the interloper.

"Look I don't know who you are but…wait…" The man looked at Booker's right hand and the detective cursed the fact that the hadn't thought to cover up given all the adverts he'd seen strewn about town.

"Hey buddy, listen, I don't want any trouble…" Booker began.

"You need to go! Now! They might be here at any moment, I've heard stirrings there were going to be random searches for you." The man urged and growled when Booker stood there like a deer caught in a headlight. "Well what are you standing around for, get moving!" The man directed and Booker nodded as he made his way through the structure and out onto the far entrance into the crowded street filled with booths and other such performances. Booker looked on and saw a police officer flanked by several soldiers knocking on couple's front door and quickly waded into the crowd to move ahead.

The detective made his way up the street without being detected by any of the law enforcement personnel stationed at this particular section of the fairgrounds and soon stood before a large fancy gate with a mysterious eye at the very top center, looking down and about all that approached its guarded keep. To the sides of the gate were two similar eyes each with the same Latin inscription. Feeling the urge to carry on, Booker moved through the gate and entered a foggy courtyard, the echoing call of crows filled the outdoor area further adding to Booker's increasing anxiety and giving cause for the veteran to get into the structure as quickly as possible.

The front antechamber gave Booker all of the information he needed to know about its residents. On either side stood racks of hooded robes with the symbol of a crow proudly adorning each garment. Clearly these people were either a part of some private club or cult, either of which spelled trouble in Booker's mind. In the center of the room, a standing bird feeder filled with fruit attracting birds and flies alike stood proudly, almost in a place of worship. Flanking the main entrance into the next chamber were two portraits of older men, no doubt leading members or founders of whatever private guild this building happened to house.

Moving ahead, the veteran was treated to a grim reminder that nearly half a century later, there were still very much open wounds from a war that tore a country in twain. A massive statue depicting "John Wilkes Booth" based on its plaquard, holding a pistol in his outstretched hand, no doubt in reference to his most infamous act. Not bothering to stand around, Booker ascended the left staircase and made his way through the adjoining chamber where he entered a speaking hall in an, had he not been careful, interrupted something in progress.

"And so, the Prophet led us into Peking, where we demonstrated to the Sodom Below the true mission our Founders given us." Began what Booker could see as a balding but charismatic man standing at a podium in the midst of a large pendent at the center of the stage which displayed '_Protecting Our Race' _surrounded by a circle of stars. These were definitely _not_ the type of people who took kindly to any sort of interference and booker withdrew his Mauser from his hip holster and kept it at the ready.

"…and when the Mandarins and hypocrites of Washington betrayed him, our Prophet did not heel…he did not come crawling for their forgiveness…" He cried louder and louder and as his voice rose so too did the volume of crows circling his form, as if something had bewitched their simple bird brains to follow this mad man.

"Like our father's broke from the Great Apostate…so too does Father Comstock prepare to secede from these so-called Patriots…but what's this…I sense a nonbeliever in our midst…a FALSE SHEPARD!" The man looked up and swung his arms up toward the veteran and the crows rushed him causing him to stumble away from the edge of the balcony. Quickly. Booker regained his senses and made his way around the corner and downstairs only to be treated by armed cultists. Booker fired a warning shot into the floor and took aim.

"Stop or I will shoot…I am an agent of the Pinkerton Detective Agency and I will…"

"KILL THE FALSE SHEPARD! HE SHALL NOT DEFILE OUR PRECIOUS LAMB!" Cried a member of the crowd as they rushed toward him in folly. Booker fired into the crowd, instantly downing several of the more violent members to the forefront while grievously wounding others. One took a swing at the veteran who caught his arm in delivered a powerful right hook knocking the would be assailant unconscious. All in all none stood in his path and the detective proceeded up onto the stage and stared at the mural of George Washington in disgust. None of this was right, this wasn't the America he fought and bled for on the foreign shores of the orient. Out there, on the battlefield there was no room for prejudice or petty racism, you either depended on your comrade you died alone, and there wasn't room for anything in between.

Booker exited the stage and walked into large productive office area with an elevator off to the side and proceeded to enter and press the upward button and holstered his pistol as the compartment moved higher into the building. He arrived at the empty floor only to be greeted by that all-seeing-eye complete with that same Latin inscription, "Audemus Patria Nostra Defendere".

With a scowl, the determined detective made his way to the right and entered a large viewing room with an active projector detailing the differences of prophet's physiology with those this group viewed as lesser beings. Booker withdrew his pistol and shot the projector, causing the image to cease promptly holstered as he made his way up the stairs opposite of the entryway and moved to open the door but noticed it appeared to be jammed. Booker gripped the handle firmly and pressed the door open, and to his credit it opened as much as the chain would allow, just enough to treat him to a gruesome sight.

"ANSWER ME YOU YELLOW BASTARD! I KNOW YOU'RE IN CAHOOTS WITH THE VOX!" Bellowed a loud, almost demonic voice.

"Why do you do this? Please! Let me go!" The beaten man cried as he hung from shackles at his wrists.

"FINE IF YOU WON'T TELL ME WHAT FITZROY OR THE FALSE SHEPARD HAVE PLANNED…YOU ARE OF NO USE TO ME!" He finished darkly and all at once a murder of crows flew from the darkness and devoured the man where he hung, his cries and shrieks filled the halls. Booker couldn't stand doing nothing and began kicking at the door and finally broke the chain but it was too late, the poor Chinese man was dead. Booker drew the Hand Cannon, fully intent on ending whoever caused such suffering but noticed only black cloud of smoke in his wake. He took a few steps forward before a loud voice filled the large birdcage.

"WELL…WELL…WELL…If it isn't our very own False Shepard! You're definitely earlier than expected, but it makes no difference to me."

"Hey, look, I don't have any quarrel with you…if you let me pass, I promise no harm will come to you." Booker offered as he stepped into the light, looking about the room trying to ascertain the location of the speaker. His eyes finally settled on a statue of a praying woman, no doubt this Lady Comstock everyone seems so enamored with. He was met with a boisterous laugh.

"No harm will come…Oh False Shepard, harm will come to YOU, of that I can assure. I don't know how you made it this far but your path comes to an end here and now! CHARLES…ATTEND!" The voice shouted and went silent and in a collection of screeches, a hooded man appeared several paces beyond the detective, he was surrounded by crows and carried a coffin on his back. At this point, Booker wasn't about to ask if he were friend or foe and decided on the 'shoot first, shoot some more, and make sure they died first' option.

_BANG…BANG…BANG…_

Three shots rang from the powerful Hand Cannon, the first two were almost effortlessly dodged by the mysterious man only known as Charles but the third seemed to hit him square in the chest but instead of crumpling in a heap on the floor, his figure exploded into a collection of voracious birds that took flight and flew directly through the detective. Before he could even react he felt a powerful force strike his back, only instead of pain he felt himself being propelled backward and that same golden sheen from the previous night overtake his if stained golden glass had fractured and now repaired itself, Booker once more felt whole.

"By the Prophet, what devil are you?" The hooded figure asked shocked. Booker turned on his heel and fired another shot from the Hand Cannon causing the man to birst into flames once again. All at once, Booker was back on his feet and looking about the room. He quickly reloaded the Hand Cannon and aimed about the room.

" '_Kay, so that drink must have given me some sorta barrier. I'll be sure to thank those two if I see 'em again." _He thought as he kept his eyes peeled for the hooded man. Thinking rapidly, DeWitt pulled his Skyhook and brought it to bare against a blade that seemed to emerge from the darkness and batted the man away as he fired another round into the man's chest only to be met with an avian explosion.

"Damn it, nothing I do seems to be affecting…unless...that vigor!" Booker thought and holstered his revolver and kept the Skyhook at the ready. With intense concentration, the detective picked up on the emerging footsteps of this 'Charles' and spun around to attack with his Skyhook, catching the hooded man off guard. Seizing this opportunity, the veteran mustered the will to use the 'Devil's Kiss' and his right hand became engulfed in flames. In seconds, Booker cast molten orb of smoldering rock at the stunned figure and he, and his birds, erupted in horrific show of burning feathers and flesh. With a loud scream of pain and anguish this 'Charles' disappeared in a flock of birds and flames leaving DeWitt with a surefire way to bring him to his knees.

Having been severely burned, this man's patience and penchant for playing games was at an end as he came flying out with his sword brandished. Booker parried as best he could with his tool and drew his Mauser and fired several successful rounds into the figure. The man threw several knives at DeWitt causing the veteran to leapt to the right, all the while the hooded man disappeared from his spot and reappeared once more giving DeWitt time to once more rely upon his Hand Cannon.

Charles reappeared to Booker's right and attempted to plunge his sword into Booker's side, but Booker was quicker than the injured man and tossed another ball of fire at the cultists feet causing him to once more be engulfed in flames. Dazed by the immense pain, Charles could only stumble as DeWitt fired round after round into his back, brining him down to the ground desperately crawling away in an attempt to escape his fate. Booker loaded up the cylinder of the revolver

"I warned you…I didn't want any of this…" He fired a round into the poor bastard's head ending his life. Booker rifled through the man's robes, looking for anything useful, he hadn't found anything except for another bottle shaped like a crow, complete with an image of the very same bird.

"Well…that's a hell of a thing." He unscrewed the lid and once more drank in the contents, this vigor wasn't like the others had ingested thus far.

Instead of the sweet and vibrant taste, this was bitter and sour. Nonetheless, these vigors did have their advantages and in this city, if Charles were any means of measure, he would need every advantage he could muster. Booker's vision went to black and white, and he hunched over in an unbearable pain deep in his gut. Looking over to his left arm, he spotted a bloodied crow with tendons of flesh hanging from its beak looking directly into his eyes. Just as quickly as it landed it took off and with it the pain in the detective's gut and soon his vision returned to normal.

"CHARLES WAS A GOOD MAN, FALSE SHEPARD! A REAL PATRIOT! The voice once more bellowed. "YOU…YOU'RE JUST A PARASITE! A CANCER ON THE OTHERWISE SPOTLESS VISION OF GLORY! MEN, SEE TO IT THAT CHARLES IS AVENGED!" And with that command, several soldiers stormed the opposite end of the chamber and laid down fire on the veteran. His reflexes honed by war, Booker leapt forward and used the statue as cover from the deadly machine gun fire. He took one look at his hand and rolled out of cover and thrust his arm outward causing an entire Murder of Crows to emerge from the ether and assault the soldiers where they stood; picking away at their flesh and causing various screams of pain and horror, the soldiers fell one by one as DeWitt made his way out of the chamber of death.

Booker emerged from the darkened halls of the evil fortress and came out onto a large balcony where he spotted a balding man leaping onto a flying boat. Booker went to give chase but an automated machine gun emplacement raind down fire upon his position, forcing Booker to retreat behind a column. By the time Booker was able to take aim, the flying craft was well out of range. It didn't matter much now, for just across the air space was the entrance to Monument Island, proudly displayed by a sign comprised solely of filament bulbs.

Booker took this time to reload both the Mauser and Hand Cannon before replacing them on his person and began hoping from one freight hook to the next before reaching the last and spying a soldier waiting his arrival. Not bothering to let the soldier spot him, Booker took to the offensive and sprung from the hook and flew toward the unsuspecting soldier whose final moments comprised of seeing one Booker DeWitt raising his Skyhook before having his brains bashed in.

Another solider had seen the carnage and divided his attention between his now dead comrade and the very much alive and angry Booker DeWitt who had now drawn his pistol and leveled it at the soldier.

"You can either die like your buddy, or walk away. Your choice." Booker offered, his finger hovering above the trigger, ready to pull at the slightest movement of aggression.

"Long Live Father Comsto…." The soldier was silenced as a bullet fairly ripped through his cranium causing an explosion of blood, bone, and brain matter. Booker was surprised both at the power of his weapon and the loyalty of this city's soldiers. They valued their prophet and his cause above their own lives, you couldn't buy that kind of loyalty. Booker climbed the steps and noticed this entrance was more of a station and entered the large edifice in hopes of finding a gondola to Monument Island.

A few steps into the building and at once he knew the whole place was crawling with soldiers, whether they were stationed here to lay in wait for him or just here as part of closure was anyone's guess, but Booker felt he ought to play this situation smart and cast possession a gun turret which registered the control and proceeded to fire upon the soldiers in the room. Giving Booker enough time to enter the fray with his Mauser drawn and vigors at the ready.

The first two to fall were far too distracted with keeping cover from the wayward turret as Booker emerged from the halls and delivered killing blows with his proceed to gun down the besieged troops as they futilely attempted to fight a two front war. Booker then turned his attention to a few more of the heavy hitters of the bunch, armed with rifles and grenade launchers, a little overkill in the veterans measure but they aimed to see him dead one way or another so he guessed it made sense in the end. Booker tossed grenade of Devil's Kiss between the soldiers causing both to catch a face full of molten rock. Booker proceeded to silence their screams with a few well placed shots from his Mauser. A few more soldiers burst in the room behind the turret and DeWitt cast the Devil's Kiss directly at their feet causing a monumental explosion of fire and heat, melting the two member's of Columbia's Finest in their boots.

Booker stepped over the molten remains of the soldiers and exited the building where he spied an empty gondola. Finally, a simply solution to a simple problem, he thought to himself as he boarded the craft and attempted to generate some activity from the contraption. Unfortunately his hopes were dashed when he saw a sign hanging from a level, which read 'Out Of Order' in bold read letters.

"Guess that's that." Booker said softly as he eyeballed the Skyline. He grinned as he retrieved the Skyhook and brought the whirling blades to life. It was probably for the best that the gondola wasn't functional, after all had Columbia's forces caught up with him, they could just as easily surround and overwhelm him using those gunboats of theirs if they didn't decide to blow him out the sky first. Besides, in Booker's mind, this way was far more fun and with that he lept to the Skylines and careened down the winding rails towards Monument Island.

* * *

Booker touched down at the empty station for Monument Island, it looked like it hadn't been used in years as the detective noted a thick layer of dust on the secured crates lining the area. Booker didn't care, he finally made it to monument island and nothing was going to stop him now. He kicked the wooden doors open and charged ahead ready to deal with the next wave of threats this Prophet saw fit to throw his way. But to his surprise all he found were the gates to Monument Tower locked with chains and covered in signs warning all who would dare get this far to stay away for fear of imminent demise.

"Wonder why they got her locked up in here?" Booker mused as he noticed a freight hook high above the gates. In the blink of an eye, the detective found himself on the other side and walking toward the main entrance. A large statue of a female angel stood before the main door surrounded by blue and white flowers. She held a scripture which read, 'THE SEED OF THE PROPHET SHALL SIT THE THRONE AND DROWN IN FLAMES THE MOUNTAINS OF MAN.'

"Just like before, still creepy." He whispered as he rounded the statue and entered the building, Hand Cannon at the ready and Devil's Kiss rearing to go for any eventuality. Booker walked into the first area and noticed the same model statue that Monument Island was designed from stood dead center in the middle of the room surrounding by warnings concerning specimens, twelve hour quarantines, and caution against approaching this mysterious 'specimen'. Booker didn't much care to take in the morbid scenery and trudged ahead carefully, fully expecting some creature of the night to leap out any moment.

He cautiously opened the twin wooden doors on the opposite of the room and stepped into the poorly lit hallway. Sparks from electrical failures shot out of devices and wiring completely unlike anything Booker had encountered back in the States. Up ahead, lit by a powerful lantern unaffected by the strange failures plaguing other electrical systems, was a large wall-sized chalkboard detailing the 'Morphology' of this specimen' and detailed a humanoid figure from the age of one all the way upt through the age of seventeen. There were also some strange x-ray photographs of various limbs, but Booker wasn't trained in the medical arts so he couldn't make heads or tails of any of this.

"What the hell are they doing in here?" He pondered as he moved past this room and into the next wherein he found more signs, now warning of seventy-two hour quarantine by high ranking official.

Inside this room were various coils arcing powerful strands of electricity into a central machine which displayed "Siphone Passive" under a dim yellow light, sparks continuing to fly about the room in violent micro-explosions of light. Booker pulled the first level, labeled aged 4, which struck the teddy bear within a glass jar changing its form with a bolt of lightening. The second level caused a brown poetry book to turn a blue-green hue. The third and final transpose lever was labeled 'age 13 menarch', and with a bolt of lightening the blood on the cloth of this made any sense to the Pinkerton Detective, were they conducting some sort of strange science or was this some sort of godless witchcraft, hell he didn't know what to believe but he wasn't here to for scientific curiosity and moved beyond these strange displays of electrical power.

Rounding the massive siphon machine, Booker stood at the end of a short corridor with two doors to the left, one to the far right, and twin doors leading somewhere beyond at the opposite end. Heading left Booker came to a large secured hatch with a brightly lit sign reading, 'Specimen is Dangerous: Failure to Follow Quarantine Protocal May Lead To Severe Injury Or Death' which only piqued his curiosity further. Opening the unsealed door, the veteran once again saw the same chalkboard at the far end of the room, leading him to believe that this 'specimen' was the girl. On the far wall was a long counter serving as a desk and to the right wall was a washing sink. The remainder of the room was nearly entirely occupied by a sealed chamber, complete with a chair not too dissimilar to the one in the craft that brought him here. When Booker stepped inside he noticed surgical knives and other implements strewn about along with several methods of restraing.

"My God…what the hell are they doing to her…" He promptly left the room and headed back down the corridor and explored the next room which gave off a familiar red glow. It was a dark room, he had become quite familiar with them as part of his work as a detective but what he found angered and disturbed him. There were various pictures of a girl, in various states of undress, but none gave the impression she was aware of their eagerly watchful eyes.

"Those sick bastards, they've been watching her!" Booker was ready to kill the first egghead he saw, he couldn't believe they were conducting such horrid practices on an innocent girl. Whoever these people were, they were going to pay, he would see to that personally, come hell or high water. The fuming veteran nearly turned to exit the hall entirely when he noticed an active projector in the room across from the dark room. Stepping inside he reached up and turned the projector on and was treated to a black screen and then a title:

**7/9/11**

**Speciment Singing**

Booker is shocked to see his theory confirmed as he is treated to a silent image of a girl singing in front of musical posters. Granted he had never seen nor heard of the music advertised, but he chalked it up to something only a Columbian citizen would know. He watched as the girl danced and swayed to the music, twirling about with obvious glee in her movements. The picture was far too grainy to get any good detail from the images but she did look an awful lot like the girl from the photographs he'd been given. The images gave way to another title screenshot.

**6/14/11**

**Specimen Dancing**

The next shots were of the same girl dancing in what appeared to be her bedroom as she danced by a four poster bed and trunk while two stands held up the musical notes and lyrics to whatever melody she had selected that day while a record played on the phonogram next to her. Whomever this girl was, she was very happy and had quite a bit of talent for merely dancing by herself. The image shifted to the next series of shots.

**11/5/11**

'**Lockpick Attempt No.132**

This time Booker was treated to somethin little different from the previous collections, the young girl was making the attempt to bypass the tumblers of a massive door before ultimately throwing her hands up in frustration and wandering out of view of the frowed at this, he knew he would hate to be cooped up all alone in a tower with no way out, heck he would probably take to lock picking himself.

**4/15/12 **

**Specimen Investigating Codes**

The projector now shows the same girl reading from a book and coordinating with a massive code table standing in front of her, what code she seeks to break and why she wants to break it could only be left up to the viewers imagination the detective mused as he furrowed his eyebrows in girl was full of strange talents, but being locked away with nothing better to do would probably result in the oddest of hobbies and interests of anyone.

**5/20/12**

**Specimen Painting**

The projector shifted once more to show the same girl artfully attending a well-constructed portrait of the city of love itself, Paris. She seemed intensely focused on getting every detail just perfectly crafted. No doubt this city held a special meaning for her. Booker shut the projector off and sighed as he wiped his hand across his face. These people kept this girl locked away with little to probably zero interaction other than whatever sadistic tests they were performing. He couldn't fathom why they would believe her to be dangerous or threatening, hell all of this seemed like major overkill. One thing was for sure, whether it was for that woman or the Lutece's, Booker was getting her out of this damned tower if it was the last thing he did on God's green earth.

Booker stepped through the wooden doors and into a room filled with coils generating colossal volumes of electrical energy from whisps from flexible machinery that looked as foreign as anything had in this city, as a distorted melody filtered through the room. In between two staircases descending to the lower level, a solitary desk and chalkboard is situated almost as if they were abandoned in a hurry. The board detailed a chart of power readings measured in conjuction with the age, apparently somewhere between her thirteenth and fourteenth birthday this facility was marked as unsafe; it definitely offered some, if any, explanation as to why they didn't want anyone in here.

Booker descended the starecase and made sure to keep his hands and feet in line as possible as wild arcs of electricity shot all around. Picking up his pace, DeWitt came to far end of the circular room where upon a final warning sign remained, 'PAST THIS POINT: 168 HOUR QUARANTINE' all approved by the prophet himself. It was here that Booker began to worry about his own health, was there something more to this place that could kill him before he even got the chance to rescue this girl.

"Well, we all gotta die at some point, might as well make it worth while." He thought darkly as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the main button to begin its ascent. The elevator trip was short and uneventful, a little too much so if Booker were to be honest with himself. In fact getting here was a little too easy, some security outside but nothing within, something wasn't right but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With a dulled ringing of a bell, the elevator came to a halt and the gilded doors opened to a tiled room with two metallic shutters and a single control lever. Booker stepped forward but halted. A mixture of feelings overtook him, he had come this far and now it was all coming to a head. He was excited, nervous, anxious, worried, all things and more. The detective retrieved his pocket watch and flipped the lid open to look at the picture that lay within. This was it, time for rubber to meet road he thought as he replaced the watch and grabbed the lever in his hand. Booker took a deep breath and gave the lever a tug and released it as the shutters fell away…to an empty room.

Booker stepped forward and looked into the small window beholding a larger room. There was a lock-pick set, a clipboard, a codebook, and that massive code table from the projection room footage. He chuckled and mentally kicked himself, he got himself all worked up over nothing, just like a kid. He shook his head and made to leave for a room when he noticed a board light up, highlighting 'Dressing Room'.

"Alright, guess that's as good a place to be as any." He said to himself as he made his way through the portal and down the wooden path, which lead to another set sealed metal doors that opened when the other closed. Once more Booker stepped forward and gripped the lever with steadfast determination and once more he felt his core gripped by the mixture of emotions.

"_Booker…relax…it's just a girl…you've seen plenty…deep breath." _He internally chided himself and once he had steeled his nerves he yanked the lever down and let it return to its original position. The detective stepped forward as the lights in his room switched off and the metallic shutter opened slowly.

"Oh…my…god…that's her." Booker spoke softly.

There she was, clear as day, holding a post card from Paris in the midst of her dressing room. Clearly oblivious to his presence, Booker was shocked. Sure he had seen the footage and the pictures, but there was still a stubborn part of him that wanted to believe he was going nuts. But there she stood, the same girl from all of his dreams. As she leaned in to adjust a few strands of hair, Booker reached out and lightly pressed his palm against the glass, careful not to make too much noise out of fear of frightening her or letting her know of his presence. It was probably a one-way mirror, hence the lights shutting off, but as she stood to step away, the girl stopped and looked square into the mirror, directly into Booker DeWitt's eyes. He froze, did he do something wrong? Could she see him?

The girl slowly reached out as if to touch the mirror then stopped as she picked the postcard backs up with both hands and smiled to herself and quickly dashed from the room. Booker let loose the deep breath he had been holding and clutched his chest. But this was no time to lose his cool, he had made it this far but he wasn't out of the woods yet. He found the girl alright, but now he needed to get _to _the girl and then get them _both _out of the tower. With renewed determination and spirit, Booker stepped lively and followed the wooden paths over to the next viewing room.

* * *

**Endnote: I do apologize that this chapter is late as well as if it appeared rushed. I figured since this Booker would have arrived and been given knowledge to go against Prophesy, he would have a much easier task of getting to Monument Island. Also I wanted to include the somewhat special fight in the Order of The Raven compound as sort of a tribute to Bioshock's first 'Boss fight' with Doctor. Steinman. In any event I wanted to get this chapter in a place where we finally get Booker and Elizabeth in the same room together.**

**Next time, Booker and Elizabeth finally meet; they must escape the tower, and then get the heck out of Columbia. **

**Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I tried keeping with my schedule so I do apologize if there are any errors or typos that I've missed. I'll see you all in like two or three weeks! **

**Respectfully,**

**TheLifeLongEditor.**


	9. Chapter 9: All And More

**Chapter IX: All And More**

**Author's Note: I'm back and not dead! It was good to get away from it all for a while and just relax, but now I'm back in full throttle. Thank you all for being so patient and continuing to follow along. I've also been thinking and I'm just going to go ahead and say that this is going to be a longer story than even I was anticipating, so I just thought I'd put that out there.**

**With THAT being said, this chapter isn't quite going to be the beast that the last one was, but it's in keeping with what has come before so I do hope that you all enjoy!**

**That being said we're picking up right where we left off. This chapter, our heroes finally meet and things get interesting! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything regarding Bioshock Infinite, that's all Ken Levine and the holdings of Irrational Games.**

* * *

Booker made every attempt to pace himself as he raced down the wooden catwalk though it proved a most futile endeavor as he nearly collided with the heavy metal chamber door for his efforts. He took a deep breath as the hermetically sealed door's mechanisms registered his presence and with the illumination of a familiar green light the door lifted open and DeWitt stepped inside. Bright amber letters signaled that she was here and to his left were red instructions for the room's occupants to remain quiet while the 'specimen' was present. The detective gave the sign a look of utter disdain, to him it was mind boggling as to how any man could treat another human being as a lab rat. But he wasn't hear to talk morals or values, he had a job to do.

The anxious man stepped forward and gripped the handle with reassurance that he would see this angel of his dreams once more and pulled the lever, already anticipating the light changes and the removal of the metallic screen. He was treated to the sight of an all-purpose room, quite sizable yet keeping an air of quiet modesty. Along the far back wall hung a large hand-panted banner depicting a starry night in Paris, it was painfully obvious given the depiction of the Eiffel Tower. Off to the right was an standing easel holding an absolutely gorgeous and well-crafted depiction of the Eiffel Tower itself, illuminated at night. he had to give it to the girl, she was a gifted student of the arts to say the least, especially considering he doubted she had ever been to the city of Lights let alone would have had an idea of what such a locale's apperance would have been after sunset.

The girl stepped out of the corner of the room, having put away several loose objects and swiftly picked up a postcard, the image was lost on DeWitt as she kept it close to her chest and closed her eyes, appearing to mutter some sort of prayer to the Lord above. Booker's eye began to wander across the room as the girl swayed and prayed and what caught his eye next shocked the veteran to say the least, a once unusual occurrence that had become quite the norm here in Columbia. About the left wall was a myriad of drawings tacked across the smooth wooden surface, each depicting various levels of talent as well as imagery. Some depicted the girl as she saw herself and others depicted strange bird like creatures, eagles or some such avian. Yet it was the drawing in the center that captured the detective's focus, a large charcoal drawn image of what he could only describe as a farily decent rendition of himself, only lacking but a few key details. The face was covered in a dark shadow, but the depictions of the man's attire, hair, even down to the posture all screamed 'That's me, Booker DeWitt'. Was it possible that just as he had dreamed of her, that she might have dreamed of him? There were a few smaller images of this shadowy figure in various different poses and scenes, some of which very clearly reflected the earliest dreams he had experienced involving the girl. It was all quite curious to say the least.

Booker's thoughts were interrupted as he the girl threw the postcard down in a huff and looked back and forth before stretching her arms out toward the canvas. Booker furrowed his brow and stepped closer to the glass to see just what this girl was getting at. The girl had a curious and mischevious look about her as she looked about the room, as if to check if anyone could watch or see what she was about to do. She brought her hands together and made motion as if she were trying to open a pair of sliding doors and a shimmering sliver of light briefly appeared, much to the detective's shock and awe but what came next would cause his jaw to completely drop. All at once the girl found a suitable grip upon an invisible force and with a heavy heaving motion of her arms threw it open and an exposion of light and sound engulfed the room. Once everything died back down, the portion of the room which once contained the cavas was now replaced by a window like sphere and within was the city of love itself, complete with strange music and a French theater depicting the title of a performance that was totally lost on him.

"W-What the…" Booker muttered in disbelief of what his eyes were telling him. Columbia had been a marvel to behold, but this was leaps and bounds beyond anything the city in the sky had to offer. A loud siren filled his ears and soon a monstrous vehicle came into view and nearly collided with the girl before she closed the mysterious portal, such a force from the event managed to crack the glass and give both DeWitt and a tumble back. The girl brought her hands to her nose as blood poured from her nostrils and she ran from the room, out of sight once more.

"Okay, that's..well…explains some things I guess, but…no, no, no, doesn't matter. I'm here to get her out." He said to himself, shaking off the feelings of fear and uncertainty at what he just witnessed. There had to be an explanation and he was sure one would present itself at some point. DeWitt carried on and left the chamber to once again ascent a large wooden ramp, which itself led to another set of metallic stairs. He sighed in bewilderment as he thought about how with all of the advancements in such a city that there might have been some more care to install additional lifts throughout the inner structure, but he wasn't one to make such decisions. As the detective reached the top of the stairs, he realized he'd enter yet another observation area. He pulled the lever and revealed the girl to be standing before a massive observation window peering out into obfuscated bay of Monument Island, all the while being surrounded by cases of various volumes. She was humming a familiar tune, but the way she brought life to the melody was almost haunting.

"Looks like a library, okay, let's see if I can…yes here were are…library." Booker muttered to himself as he vacated the room and observed the marquee that appeared to light up in reference to the 'specimens' location. Booker tried several other doors, but each sat firmly locked. The only other option was an open portal that lead down a long metallic hallway. DeWitt was not one to waste time and he quickly reached the end of a long hall way not paying much mind to the various gauges, levers, and knobs lining the walls and set to prying open the massive door. To his credit, the detective managed to unlock the door but it appeared tp be jammed somehow, but in his mind what was jammed could just as easily be unjammed. Therefore, the detective decided to apply a 'little more' force to the door to which it finally budged giving the detective quite a start upon his discovery upon what lay beyond its metallic wall.

"Holy Hell…" Booker screamed as he fought the wind tooth and nail to get outside as the door slammed shut behind him, evidently this path lead down a catwalk that rounded the side of the massive monument. "Okay, okay, you can do this…piece of cake…" He cheered himself on as he steered his eyes toward the metal path ahead and away from the reality that he was so high up that he couldn't outright see any side of the earth's surface. It wasn't that the detective had a problem with heights, far from it, but when one was already thousands of feet in the air in a floating city and and now dangled off the side of a tower, it wasn't the most comforting of positions to find oneself. Still, the veteran mustered through, and slowly made his way around the side of the structure and found relief in the form of a hatch which required very little effort from the detective to open and return to the safe confines of the tower's interior. Once the veteran was securely within the walls of the tower, he swiftly rubbed his forearms to regain some warmth and feeling back into his chilled extremities before smoothing out his clothes and continuing forward on his quest.

This antechamber was quite simple, in the center of a room was a short walkway that gave the appearance of being a gilded cage, interesting enough was the fact that the cage appeared to built of separate materials and almost entirely foreign to the remainder of the room in totality. The room itself was lined with various panels and indicators reading various items and keeping tabs on specific ratios that left the detective perplexed, clearly this was far and above his head. Booker rounded the path and walked into the cage-like room, giving note to the fact that the floor appeared to be held in place by several rather large golden chains. Booker clicked his tongue in thought but shook his head in a dismissive manner and proceeded toward the hermetically sealed door ahead of him. Forward progress was not meant to be achieved for in a few short steps, the unmistakable sound of stretching metal recaptured the attention of the detective and he barely had enough time to register what was going on before the chains snapped and the floor beneath him tilted and unceremoniously dumped him into the room beneath.

"Oh SHIT!" He yelled as he fell and barely managed to grab on to the balcony, putting an extreme strain on his arm but overall halting what would have undoubtedly proven to be a very nasty fall. Booker swung himself about and attempted to bring himself up, managing to grab hold of the balcony with his other arm. With a deep breath, the detective slowly began to pull himself up and it was then, when he looked up, did he lay eyes upon the girl for the very first time. It was as if his heart had stopped in that very moment, he was no longer impeded by photographs or viewing glass, this was her in the flesh and blood. Her beauty and grace were leaps and bounds beyond anything that any photograph could ever hope to capture. Her eyes, gorgeously blue sapphires that they were, never left his green pools as she seemed to search for an answer to the volumes of questions his presence elicited. Booker swallowed with purpose, he knew this would be only chance to make a good impression. He would need to start with something profound, something to show her that he meant business but that he wasn't there to harm, perhaps even something to impress.

"Uhhh…hi." Was all the detective could muster at the moment and he mentally kicked himself for how stupid he sounded. First words and those were the ones chosen, he literally couldn't believe himself. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, for the detective the girl's response wasn't any better as she let out a ghastly scream which, in turn, gave the detective a start and caused him to lose his grip and fall from his perch down through a small coffee table, giving him an intensely painful sensation throughout his entirety. But this wouldn't be the end of the detective's pain for as soon as his eyes opened he was treated to the sight of a large tome on an intercept course with his cranium. The detective had no time or strength in the present moment to deflect the object and felt the compiled knowledge of some unknown author collide with his person.

"Ow..would you..HEY!" Booker yelled as he attempted to stand up and watched as the frazzled young woman descended the stairs. "Could you knock that off!?" He received another book to the shoulder for his was certainly not how the detective imagined meeting this mysterious woman of his dreams, he had to do something before she threw the whole of the library at him and buried him in books and bruises.

"WILL YOU STOP IT! I'm _NOT_ here to hurt you!" Booker pleaded as he held out a hand in desperation for this terrified woman to stop pelting him with the largest written volumes she could find. She slowed her advances and brought another large blue and golden book to bare, ready to strike at a moments notice. Her face contorted with a frown as her chest heaved with adrenaline fueled breaths.

"Who…Who are you?" She demanded, not letting her guard down for a second, not that he would blame her. Hell he just fell from her ceiling, definitely not high on the list of ways to meet new people, especially one's a person would wish to trust.

"Listen to me, my name is Booker DeWitt, I'm here to get you out." He spoke calmly and reached to touch her shoulder in reassurance of his intentions. The girl didn't take kindly to this and made to swing once more, luckily DeWitt's reflexes were on high alert this time.

"G-Get AWAY!" She demanded as she struggled against his grip but he wasn't giving her any room to bruise him any further than she already had. All at once she withdrew herself from the detective's embrace and panted heavily attempted to bring her heart rate back under control. It was then that both of their eyes met once more, and soon the familiarity at each other's presence filled their minds. Booker could see it all over her face, just as he had seen her before he knew that she had seen him before as well, though from where she probably couldn't tell. It was highly suspect that she encountered anyone while being locked up in this tower. The girl smiled and her eyes went wide as she slowly approached Booker, who made no indication of moving away.

"A-Are, are you real?" She inquired bashfully as she reached out and cupped the detective's cheek, as if tactile proof would add to the validity of the situation. She rubbed his smooth shaven cheek and blushed profusely. Evidently the tactile nature of her experiment had proven his existence to be quite real in her estimation. But while she received validation, the detective's heart threatened to burst from his chest. He couldn't tell why his body reacted in such a way, it was as if her very presence set his being ablaze.

"Real enough." He offered as he stared once more into her eyes, nearly losing himself in the sea of emotion contained within those beautiful azure pools. The girl gave a soft laugh which reached Booker's ears like the silkiest smooth melody from the voice-box of an angelic being. The girl, almost begrudgingly, retracted her hand and looked down at the floor with profuse blush before looking back up to meet the detective's gaze.

"I don't understand…who…how…I have so many questions." The woman started, not quite sure where she wanted to focus first. The detective grinned and reached down into his trouser pocket to retrieve the key he was given by the Lutece's.

"There'll be plenty of time for questions later, right now let's get _you _out of _here." _Booker declared as he motioned his arms around the room and scanned his environment to find a rather large vault door with a large _Fink Industries _brand adorning its rather plain features. _Perfect._

"I don't understand…there's no way out, I've tried every way I know." She huffed as the detective walked across the room to approach the massive metal door.

"Well, it probably helps to have the key…which I believe…fits right here." Booker looked over his shoulder and briefly flashed the key before inserting it into the door and turning it thusly, beginnign the process of disengaging the various tumblers and other locking mechanism to ultimately unseal this rather large and seemingly unnecessary vault door.

"Where did you? How?!" The woman exclaimed as she gripped his shoulders in joy. First the first time in years, the warm feeling of hope filled her heart. Long ago she had given up ever being able to escape the confines of her tower, yet this not-so-strange stranger who had fallen through her sealing was practically opening the front door; it was all too much for the young woman to contact as she squealed in delight with a twirl.

"Let's just chalk it up to a mutual benefactor of sorts. Come on, this way, I'm surprised I haven't tripped any sort of alarm just yet." Booker announced with a smile and opened the door further allowing room for both to pass through with ease. The detective cursed as a red light flashed and a rather quiet klaxon began to resound through the hallway. The pair gave each other a look and began racing down the stairs and through the various hallways. Booker curiously noted that the first observation room had once more closed its viewing panels to any perceived occupants of the room, but didn't devote much time to the observation as he attempted to keep pace with the girl.

"Hey…so what's your name?" Booker yelled near breathless as they rounded the wooden walkways.

"Elizabeth…my name's Elizabeth!" She shouted as she pulled ahead and made her way back to the elevator room.

"Pleasure to meet you!" Booker replied breathily as they continued down the tower.

"I-I feel like I've met you before Mister DeWitt. Perhaps in a dream!? It's silly, I know." Elizabeth started she rounded the final corner that Booker recognized as being the path that lead toward the elevator room.

"It's funny you should mention...that..." Booker's words nearly died in his throat as he watched the innocent girl stare horrified into the one-way viewing windows into her own bedroom. Evidently this observation room hadn't received the same signal as the others to closet up shop and this gave Elizabeth one helluva startling revelation that she probably could have gone her whole life without having ever even known. He stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a start, to which she turned and pulled away.

"What is all this?" Elizabeth questioned as she placed her hands on the glass before turning back to the face the detective. "They were watching me all this time…why?"

"I, uh, don't know…I just got here yesterday." Booker offered rather lamely but he knew the question was more rhetorical than anything.

"I don't understand…why did they do this to me? Why did they put me in here? What am I to them? WHAT AM I?!"

"Look there's a lot of questions that deserve a lot of answers." Booker started as he reached over and summoned the lift with a powerful press. "But I can tell you one thing I _do _know."

"Oh?" She asked, interested in what the detective had to offer but still not bothering to meet his gaze as her eyes were wide with terror.

"M-hm, I know that _you're _the girl who's getting out of this tower. Now come on, unless you want to stay?" Booker said in jest as he walked into the elevator. He was greeted with a soft smile for his efforts and she young woman soon followed him inside. He pushed the button and they began to descend to the bottom floor of the tower, a majority of the short trip was held in silence as Elizabeth held herself trying to make sense of the startling revelation that she was being watched for God knows how long.

* * *

"Hey, this is our stop." Booker said to bring his charge out of her reverie and she looked up at him with those wide eyes and nodded, chewing the bottom of her lip.

"Listen, it's okay, we'll get to the bottom of this as soon as we get you out." The detective promised as the girl nodded. He exited first, swiftly followed the girl who appeared to hang on his every movement. Just as they ascended the small set of stairs, Booker brought and arm around to halt Elizabeth from coming into full view as he heard a strange set of voices.

"JENKINS, MENDOZA, GET THE LEAD OUT! LOOKS LIKE WE TRIPPED SOME SORT OF ALARM AND WE DON'T NEED NO COPPERS COMING THROUGH BEFORE THE FIREWORKS BEGIN!" Came a voice from one of the adjoining chambers.

"YEAH, yeah, keep yer' shirt on!" One of the men in their room shouted as he wired up what appeared to be massive amounts of explosives all around the room.

"We're movin', we're movin'!" Came a secondary reply.

_"Fireworks, what the hell are they talking about?" _Booker thought to himself as he turned and motioned for the frightened girl to stay where she was while he scouted ahead to discern a suitable path by which to pass by undetected. Slowly the detective made his way deeper into the siphon room, now filled to the brim with various crates each connected by thin black wiring. The crates themselves were unmarked but Booker knew exactly what was going on, whoever these people were they were planning to blow this whole tower to kingdom come. Booker knew he needed to get Elizabeth out of here and fast. He turned to return back to where he came to regroup with the girl but had been intercepted by one of the thugs.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here? A little birdie that didn't fly the nest?" The man taunted as he brought his rifle from around his back into his arms and laid aim at the detective who at this point stood up at his full height.

"Look pal, I don't want any trouble, I just want to get out of here. After that you can do whatever you want, makes no difference to me." Booker offered and as his eyes darted from the man to a short distance behind him where the girl softly poked her head out from the cover she had used for hiding to watch the events play out. The veteran cursed himself for not being more careful with her.

"Funny ain't it, you don't want any trouble yet here you are. Nah, I don't think you'll be gettin' out of here, you've already seen too much." He cocked his weapon and took aim at the detective which further gained the attention of several others in the room. Booker closed his eyes and cursed his luck, he was hoping there wouldn't be any more bloodshed today, evidently the Lord had other plans for him, plans that made zero sense in the grand scheme of things.

"HEY WHAT'S GOING ON OVER THERE?" The man in charge asked as his heavy footfalls gave indication he and several others were quickly approaching.

"Found a little birdie in the rafters boss, nothing I can't take care of." The man sneered and was about to pull the trigger when the detective decided to act and throw a small ball of Devil's Kiss at the man, bursting to flame on impact giving the man cause to scream out in surprise and in pain as he pulled the trigger to his rifle and fired off several rounds into the floor. Booker took the opportunity to retrieve his skyook and deliver a succinct blow to the mans cranium, killing the man instantly.

"HEY, WHAT THE HELL? GET 'EM BOYS!" The man shouted and soon several rounds whizzed past Booker's head as he bolted back toward Elizabeth and leapt behind the cover and quickly drew his Mauser. Booker gave one look to the girl who appeared to be in a daze as he leapt up and gave suppressive fire which successfully halted these thugs' advance forward by forcing them into cover. Booker controlled his breath as his mind raced back to his times in the service, with a shudder the detective willed away the intrusive thoughts and made to take aim at the next opponent that dared make another attempt at his life when the telltale sound of heavy footfalls and metallic clang of weaponry made its way throughout the room as heavy gunfire broke out in a cacophony sound and violence.

"BOSS! WE GOT A PROBLEM! THE POLICE ARE HERE AND THEY'RE ARMED TO THE TEETH!"

"BURNS! TELL THE BOYS TO TOLD THE LINE, WE'RE ON OUR WAY!"

"Time to go." Booker muttered to himself as he reached over and grabbed the girl's hand and took off back to the elevator without delay. Once Booker had Elizabeth securely in the elevator, he slammed his fist against the button as and watched the doors come to a slow close. The sound of machine gun and rifled fire filled the siphon room as the lift began its ascent in the tower. It was abundantly clear that they would need a new way out of this monument, but before he could give escape any more thought his eye noticed Elizabeth shaking where she stood. He thought better of just leaving her like that, and made to approach to determine what was bothering her.

"Hey, Miss, uh, Elizabeth are you..." Booker didn't get the chance to finish the statement as powerful slap was delivered across his face, stunning him into silence. Booker swiveled his head back to the girl who now brought her small fists to bear upon his broad frame with malicious intent.

"Hey...HEY! will you stop!?" Booker demanded as he grabbed each of her wrists in an attempt to halt her assault on his person. Unfortunately Elizabeth knew better and kneed the unsuspecting detective in his nether regions, resulting in his stumbling backward in attempt to stymie the pain and regain his composure. He made an attempt to ask her what her deal was but all that came out of his mouth were sputtered coughs and grunts. The girl turned away from him as the pain subsided and Booker once more stood up staight and cleared his throat.

"Elizabeth, why are you upset?" He asked with genuine concern.

"Why am I upset? WHY AM I UPSET?" Elizabeth shouted as she turned to face the detective, her eyes filled with wroth. "YOU KILLED THAT MAN! Y-you burned and bludgeoned that man to death! How could you?" She asked with chocked sob.

"How could I what?!" Booker asked, fully ignorant of her sudden ire toward him.

"End that man's life, so coldly, so callously, without any hesitation! You're...you're a monster!" She all but cried as she stepped in the far corner of the lift. Booker paused at her words and realized that this woman had likely never been exposed to death, especially not to the sudden and violent type. He cursed himself for not being more careful in trying to sneak about the room, had he done a better job they could have avoided the bloodshed entirely. But still he had to make her understand that he wasn't a cold-blooded killer, there were reasons, even if he could never justify it to himself.

"Elizabeth, I need you to listen to me..." He began as the girl put her hands on her hips, daring him to provide a good explanation. "You're right, I am a monster, I've done terrible things in my time, terrible and awful things that I've tried very hard to make amends for, hell I even...look I'm not going to argue on with on that front." Booker paused as Elizabeth gave him a wide eyed stare at his words, she had undoubtedly been expecting a fight out of him but this wasn't exactly where she thought the conversation would turn. Booker continued.

"That man in there, would have just as soon gunned me down as he would have turned on you. I didn't want to kill him, truth be told I didn't even know anyone would be here, the whole place was empty. But I'm a trained soldier, trained to neutralize a threat to my mission with extreme prejudice should the situation call for it. That man was going to kill us both and I couldn't let that happen, I'm here to get you out and I can't do that if I'm dead..." Booker stopped and chewed on his lip in thought on what to say next, but Elizabeth saw this as an opportunity herself.

"But why? Why would they wish to harm us, we've never made their acquaintance prior to now. It doesn't seem right."

" I don't know...perhaps it had something to do with those crates filled with explosives...they're planning to level this place." At that revelation Elizabeth gasped and brought a hand to her mouth.

"No, no that can't be! Who would do such a thing here in Columbia?" She asked with wide eyes and great concern in her lovely voice.

"I don't know, Elizabeth, but I tell you the same people who'd level a monument would be the same that wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet in your pretty little head...or mine." He finished darkly as he looked off to the side, not noticing the slight blush that colored Elizabeth's cheeks for the briefest of moments at his words. Elizabeth took a few steps forward until she was half an arms length away from the detective.

"I suppose you're right Mister DeWitt, but don't you dare think that I condone such actions!" Elizabeth leveled as she poked a finger into the detective's chest and crooked her jaw in frustration.

"Naturally, hell, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf myself. Look my job's to get you out of here and doing that means keeping you out of harms way. If things start to get messy, I'll be sure to steer you clear of it all...that is if I can't stop it all first. Okay?" Booker offered up the olive branch, which was accepted with a slight nod from the agitated girl.

"Okay Mister DeWitt, I've only met you today but I feel as though..." Elizabeth paused as she once more reached up to hold his cheek in her hand, bringing his eyes to meet hers in a connection of two lost souls having found one another amidst impossible odds.

"...feel as though what?" Booker spoke hoarsly as her touch had unintended side-affects.

"It's strange but I feel as though I've known you for a very long time...that I can trust you implicitly." Elizabeth finished slowly and rested her hand in the other as Booker weighed her words. He gave her a slight nod which seemed to quell her thoughts for the time being but further discussion would need to be had at a later date, perhaps when he delivered her to, well, he hadn't made up his mind just yet on that front either. So many questions needed answer and the day had plenty of light left in it.

* * *

The lift came to a halt and the doors opened, the pair departed in silence with only the dull echoes of the firefight below filling the room. Booker made to question the girl about her knowledge of this tower concerning emergency exits or other means of departure, but they never had the chance to be voiced as a a loud screech reverberated throughout the entire tower causing both Elizabeth and Booker to clutch their ears in immense pain. In moments the cry ceased, allowing the couple some the tell tale sounds of a flute playing notes far off, echoed from on high giving Elizabeth a surge of anxiety as she stepped from one side the room to the other.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no he's coming…he's coming…he's going to be so angry that I'm..we need to go! Now!" Elizabeth cried as she paced about the room and Booker watched few moments before stepping forward and taking her hand in his own. This seemed to stop her frantic pacing but she still incoherently muttered to herself in fear.

"Elizabeth…ELIZABETH! Calm down!" He called as she finally stopped muttering to herself and blushed with a quiet 'sorry'. "Who's coming?" Elizabeth chewed her lip and twiddled her fingers nervously.

"He used to be a friend…always bringing me books and other such things…but soon I realized he was less of a friend and more of a jailer." Booker was about to ask what she meant but the sound of metal being crushed from behind gave the veteran cause to push the girl in the far corner of the room as a large clawed hand emerged from where the elevator once rested. Elizabeth let out well earned cries of fear as the monstrous figure stuck its eye in full view which Booker seized as an opportunity and drew upon this monstrosity, firing several shots before the creature finally puled away to give chase to a hovering craft that could be seen through the gaping hole in the monument's walls. Loud heavy weapons fire could soon be heard all around them and Booker once more grasped Elizabeth's hand and began to sprint.

"Come on we have to go up!" Elizabeth just nodded as they raced back up the catwalks. The sounds outside grew louder as the creature clawed through more of the wall in its efforts to combat the gunboats outside.

"Mister DeWitt, you're falling behind!" Elizabeth turned but Booker waved her off and as he kept up his pace.

"I'm fine, just keep going…and call me Booker!" He corrected as loud external explosion rocked the tower and forced the detective to lean heavily on the rail for balance at that moment an unknown high frequency sound echoed throughout the tower causing both the detective and the young woman to stop and look for the source.

"_**WELL, WELL, IF IT ISN'T THE FALSE SHEPARD COME TO LEAD MY LAMB ASTRAY!"**_

Booker shook as the voice boomed loudly, deafening the pair from all but his powerful voice. This must have been the prophet that everyone seemed so enamored with, either that or God had returned to his creation to smite his wretched soul. He leaned toward the former.

"Listen, I'm taking the girl and getting her out of here!" Booker shouted up to the rafters of the tower as Elizabeth glanced at him that back upward.

"_**I WONDER IF MY LAMB WOULD FOLLOW YOU SO READILY IF SHE KNEW WHAT TYPE OF MAN YOU REALLY ARE?"**_

"What does he mean by that, Mister DeWitt?" Elizabeth asked curiously as she stepped closer to the detective who merely didn't dare respond half out of confusion as to what this prophet's angle was and half out of fear that he might be right. Booker's eyes widened, they had already tackled his violent nature but there were plenty more skeletons in his closet that he didn't feel like dragging out on this day. Just what could this 'prophet' possibly know about him.

"He's bluffing! Don't see how he could know anything about me. Never met the man a day in my life." Booker offered nervously as he was hoping his call would give the prophet pause before he spoke next, evidently the detective wasn't as lucky as he had hoped.

"**_BOOKER DEWITT, I MORE ABOUT YOU THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE! I KNOW EVERYTHING! THE ORIENT, THE GAMBLING, AND…OF COURSE…ANABELLE…"_**

"LISTEN YOU, I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU _THINK _YOU KNOW! WE'RE LEAVING AND THAT'S FINAL!" He shouted up into the high ceiling of the tower as he turned back to face the perplexed girl. "Come on, Elizabeth we need to keep going before that damn thing brings down the whole tower." She nodded in agreement and took his hand as Booker launched once more into a heavy sprint, ascending the ramps as loud gunfire mixed with horrific screeches and shrieks boomed from every direction.

"_**FEAR NOT MY CHILD, FOR SOON YOU WILL BE SAFE FROM THE CLUTCHES OF THIS PARASITIC SERVANT OF SATAN! FOR I HAVE SEEN YOUR DESTINY AND IT IS GLORIOUS!"**_

The pair finally made it to the very top of the tower approaching the same door to the outside as DeWitt had found earlier. Elizabeth threw herself at the hatch and attempted to pry it open as DeWitt looked around for a button, knob, or lever to press, push, or pull to make his job easier but found no such luck. He lightly ushered her aside and pried the door open enough for Elizabeth to slip through and ascend the walkway. Booker then proceeded to make his way through in pursuit until he reached the top. m

"OKAY, SO NOW WHAT?" Elizabeth shouted over the roar of the heavy winds as the familiar screeching of the creature could be hard not far off, no doubt responding to the sounds of gunfire and screaming men.

"I DON'T KNOW LET ME THINK!" Bookers shouted as several armed gunboats fared off into the clouds as a mysterious creature launched itself at them with fury. Not only did Booker have to find a way off this tower with the girl and survive, but he would have to deal with whatever the hell was giving these heavily armed thugs trouble, and possibly even the thugs. He rubbed his face with a sigh, this job was getting worse all the time.

Booker's thoughts were interrupted when a larged winged man-like creature flew up into full view of both himself and Elizabeth, causing her to scream in fear at its sudden and monstrous appearance. The abomination appeared to be roughly ten to twelve feet in height and fully or at least mostly mechanical in nature. It wore heavy polished brass boots and its arms were a mixture of metal and heavy leather joined by brass rings. Its torso held two red glowing window like structures with hoses that stretched out and around to its back. Directly above those red structures were two speakers on either side of its neck, no doubt for either sound or verbal communication. Its head was a round affair, with a small point facing the duo as three glowing portals formed a near perfect triangle around the helmet, possibly allowing for enhanced visibility. Wearing around its helmet was a mahogany shell completely extended to allow its bat-like wings to flap and keep itself in flight. The shell itself allowed light to pass through, giving giving the impression that the wings contained some elements of stained glass.

This thing was created with intent and purpose, that much was clear to the detective as he got a far better look at its workings. What that purpose might have been, was anyone's guess but now it was clear that this creation was tasked with impeding his progress and securing the girl for whatever nefarious purpose its taskmaster held. One thing was clear, Booker DeWitt was not about to let this thing carry Elizabeth off to God only knew what fate. With that Booker, drew his Hand Cannon and cocked the hammer back and willed to life the Devil's kiss and charged up a massive ball of fire and death. Now he would need to gain the thing's attention in order to make sure he could take it down or at least distract it with enough time to escape with the girl unscathed.

"HEY UGLY!" Booker called in hopes of acquiring the creature's attention, a little too successfully as it began to approach the soldier instead of the girl with its orbs growing a bright and aggressive red. Better to focus on him than the girl in his mind and with that he launched into action. "EAT LEAD!" Booker tossed the explosive ball of fire directly into the face of the beast causing a brilliant blast of flames to engulf the monstrosity. It clutched its head and bellowed in pain and Booker fired off a chamber into the creature as it howled an inhuman cry and fell away from view and retreated into the clouds.

Elizabeth rushed over to Booker as he looked about for any means of escape. She was about to ask once more what they should do but bombastic rumbling made its way from the base of the tower and the tell-tale sound and reverberation of explosions soon rocked the whole of Monument Island as the base of the tower was reduced to a twisted smoldering hulk of metal quickly smoldering and beginning to collapse. A large wave of blue and whispy white energy exploded from within and caused Elizabeth to scream in absolute agony as she collapsed to the floor. Booker, not quite understanding what just happened, waisted no time in gathering the girl to his side and retrieving his skyhook and slowly walked over to the edge of catwalk.

"God, I hope this works…if you can hear my prayer, please make this work." Booker closed his eyes and pulled the trigger tightly and the blades quickly whirled to life, spinning with all their might. Booker took a few steps back and with a deep breath ran forward with all his might and leapt from top the collapsing tower and careened toward whatever ever fate that God had in store for both himself and Elizabeth.

* * *

**Endnote: Thank you all once again for reading. I wrote and then re-wrote/edited the chapter at the same time so I do apologize if I missed anything as far as spelling, grammar, or tense is concerned. I'm thinking that once the story ends I'm going to go through each chapter and re-edit once more to make sure it's all good for you all.**

**In any event, Booker and Elizabeth have finally met and it's another whirlwind of events thrusting our heroes into their greatest adventure. I hope you all liked it, it was very 'interesting' to write and fun. I hope I was able to capture their first interaction well enough to pass muster. ****Up next, we find our heroes on the shores of Battleship Bay, stay tuned.**

**Thank you all for continuing to follow along, your reviews are greatly appreciated! **

**See you next time!**

**Respectfully, **

**TheLifeLongEditor**


	10. Chapter 10: Saddle The Pony

**Chapter Ten: Saddle The Pony**

**Author's Note: So you'll notice that I'm switching from roman numerals to the standard, but that's because from an upload perspective it starts getting dicey and from an aesthetic perspective it just isn't as pleasing to the eye. That being said, here we are! I've been looking forward to this chapter for a little bit now so I hope you all enjoy!**

**I also apologize for the delay in upload, I had a recent upheaval in my personal life that sort of threw me out of whack and continues to spiral. Needless to say I'll be alright, I have an amazing support system. That being said if this chapter isn't up to regular snuff, I do apologize. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, it belongs to Ken Levine.**

* * *

_Booker found himself in a fugue; everything around him was clouded, shrouded in dark shadow and secrecy. He attempted to step forward to better acquire a deeper understanding of his surroundings, but he soon discovered that some unseen force immobilized his legs. Curious, he looked down and noticed the all-too-familiar wooden planks. Swiftly he returned his gaze forward and spotted train car, one that shouldn't have been here. _

_The mysterious force released the frantic man and he took off without delay, flooded by the internal knowledge that he needed to get to that train cart before it departed the station. If he could only make it, he could explain to her, make her understand. But just before he reached the cart he felt two forceful grips take hold of each arm and halt all forward momentum. The train began to depart and Booker struggled against his invisible captors. He thrashed and gnawed but to no avail, so the detective did the only thing he could do, he began to shout for all of the world and heaven to hear._

"_WAIT! STOP! PLEASE LET ME GO! I HAVE TO GET TO HER! He pleaded with all his might._

"_**You've caused more than enough trouble as is, boy!" **__Was the bombastic reply from his left._

"_**Yeah, why don't you give up? Perhaps I need to put the fear of God into you to keep you away from her for good! **__A spiteful reply came from the man's right and without warning a brutal force impacted the his gut giving him cause to sputter and collapse to his knees, heavily gasping for breath. But the detective called out in a desperate plea to halt the locomotion of the car as it sped off into the darkness._

"_N-No, PLEASE, ANNABELLE, ANNABELLE!" He screamed as his vision turned black._

* * *

"A-Anna…" The detective sputtered as his heavy eyelids slowly opened to reveal a beautiful brunette compressing his torso. It wasn't Annabelle, though a brunette herself, she didn't share the same ethereal beauty and grace that this woman possessed. Slowly as Booker came to he remembered what had transpired up to present; the flying city, the strange redheads, the tower, having made the rash decision to leap from the tower, and finally, Elizabeth.

"Thank the Lord, you're alive!" She stopped her motions and bent over to bring his head to her chest. "Shh…shh…don't try to talk just now, keep breathing. Nice and easy." She urged and Booker happily obliged.

"…m'fine…." Booker retorted with a sharp cough for his efforts, earning him a look of disapproval from his savior. Booker attempted to sit up but found he couldn't readily call upon the strength to do so and resigned himself to laying flat amidst a surprisingly sandy backdrop; the detective concluded that they must have come ashore amid a beach, though how such a thing was possible in a flying city was beyond him at present.

"Here, let me." The girl softly offered as her soft fingers grasped his arm to assist the man in sitting upright, but the detective waved her off as he made another futile attempt.

"I'm fine."

"But you almost drowned, we need to get you to a doctor to make sure…"

"I _said _I'm fine…relax Elizabeth. I've been through worse scrapes and lived to tell the tale." He flashed her a grin to reassure her of his fortitude. His efforts proved successful as the formerly imprisoned girl smiled brightly in response and nodded as she stood to her full height.

"Very well, I just got so worried when you weren't breathing and…" She paused tilted her head and smiled once more. "Wait…do you hear that? It's music!" She exclaimed with glee, bringing a hand over her heart. The girl made to leave but she looked back down at the detective with concern written all over her face.

"Go on, just go on, I'll be along in a moment." Booker urged as he brought a hand to his forehead and attempted to rub the tension out of his temples.

"Are you sure, I mean…" Elizabeth started but Booker briefly lowered his hand and gave her a glare that solidified his stance on the matter.

"Alright, alright! I-I won't be long, I won't be long, Mister DeWitt." She declared beaming with joy and excitement as she dashed away to find the source of the wonderful melody. Booker, for his part merely offered a 'call me Booker' in a subdued tone in rebuttal, though he highly doubted the brilliant girl heard him as he sank his head back into the sand closed his eyes in an attempt to stop his head from spinning.

A short while later, once the world stopped its unceasing threat spin out of control, Booker sat up and brushed the clinging sand from his form and checked himself to ensure he hadn't lost anything in the great plunge resulting from the even greater fall. Weapons, ammunition, money, all were present and, to his surprise, in working order including the pocket watch. Booker stretched out his arms and took a few deep breaths to get some pep back to his step and took a moment to sort out his surroundings. It was definitely a beach, that much was decisively certain, but the logistics of such a feat were still far beyond his mental grasp. Needless to say based on the walls and the various shops behind him, it looked as though this was only one section of a larger beach area.

"_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let the girl go off by herself. Guess I better find her." _He thought to himself as he approached the nearest pair of sunbathers, no doubt enjoying a nice holiday weekend away from work and stresses of life at home.

"'Scuse, me, any of you see a girl come by here?" He asked politely and the pair looked between themselves and shook their head in the negative. Booker nearly called them out for telling a bold-faced lie, but something about the looks on their faces suggested they genuinely hadn't seen the girl. The detective stroked his chin in thought, perhaps more time had indeed passed since he had let the girl go than he otherwise anticipated. He came back to the present moment and thanked the couple, wishing them a good holiday as he proceeded up the beach. The detective made his way toward an entry through the boardwalk leading to the other side of the shoreline where he encountered another beach reveler taking in the gorgeous vista.

"Hey there, I'm looking for a girl…" Booker started but the man merely laughed and slapped his knee. "Oh friend, aren't we all." He flashed a toothy grin to the detective and shook his head before informing the man that he hadn't seen anyone matching the description that Booker gave. The agitated detective thanked the man and left rather abruptly and didn't stop until he spotted a poster advertising Lady Comstock's personal airship _The First Lady _aerodrome.

"An airship. That could be a ticket out of here." He muttered as he made his way around the corner and back onto the other side of the beach where there were substantially larger crowds than the side they landed. The addictive melody soon washed over the worn man and he recognized it at once with a ghost of a smile.

"I'll be damned…now there's something I haven't heard that since…well…it's been a while…" He said to himself as he peered across the way to see a familiar girl in a white blouse and a blue skirt dancing her heart out with other merrymakers. Booker chuckled at how innocent she was, here they were having nearly plunged to their deaths not even half a day before and now there she was out dancing at the edge of a pier without a care in the world. Unflappable was one word he could use to describe her, but just one of many. Still, Booker didn't feel too comfortable leaving her alone with strangers for long, even in a city in the heavens there were those that wouldn't hesitate to take advantage.

Booker descended the short staircase and nearly avoided a massive beach umbrella as it bounced off the sand and flew through the air as two young boys chased after the object in a vain attempt to prevent it from reaching the water. The seasoned soldier chuckled and reflected upon his own childhood as he rounded the pier. His family never had the means to do anything so monumental as take a day trip to the beach, but they found their own ways to make fun. As Booker approached the edge of the pier he noted a marquee adverting an event, proudly displaying two carefree Columbian citizens in the midst of a jolly dance.

_'Dancing At Dusk'_

"Figures she'd find something like that going on." Booker muttered with a coy grin and crossed the wooden walkway over to the group of energetic dancers. They were all dancing around and around, even more was Elizabeth as she passed from partner to partner, each sharing the same innocent joviality as the next. As the detective stepped up and approached the group they all separated from Elizabeth and stood by to watch as the girl danced to the rhythm of the song, the patrons clapped and cheered her on as she continued a solo dance to delightful melody.

"'Scuse me…Miss…MISS…Hey, Elizabeth!" Booker's tone rose as he stepped forward and quickly found himself hand in hand with the chipper girl as she danced around him. The others laughed, hooted, and hollered for the detective to join and dance with the pretty young lass.

"Oh isn't this wonderful, Mister DeWitt, you must dance with me! Please?" Elizabeth beckoned and flashed her pretty blue eyes. Booker had a sure-fire no waiting in the wings but one look at those eyes and he was a goner. Dramatically, the detective rolled his eyes and gave a curt nod.

"Alright fine, one dance, then we're back on the move." Booker declared much to the glee of the young woman and to the happiness of the others who began their own dances as they paired off. Booker clasped his hands in hers and began to dance around the deck as the music ramped up once more the sound of joy and laughter drowned out any other worries in the world for the briefest of moments. For the first time in years, Booker felt completely at ease with Elizabeth in his arms, it was as if she had some disarming quality about her that melted away any of the woes or heartaches of the past. Truly she stirred something deep inside that Booker had desperately spent years attempting to bury and forget. Elizabeth looked about the world around her and settled back upon Booker, flashing him a smile with a brief giggle as he chuckled and twirled her in his arms. Alas, with all good things, the music came to an end and the crowd praised the pair as Elizabeth curtsied and thanked them for their kindness.

"That. That was so exhilarating, thank you so much Mister DeWitt!" Elizabeth proclaimed as she took the detective in the hand and proceeded back toward the shore.

"Don't mention it, it's the least I could do after everything back there." Booker stuck his thumb backward in reference to their adventure in the tower. "Come on, we need to keep moving, it's only a matter of time before someone realizes you're missing."

"You're right. Well, lead the way Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth offered as she looped her arm around Booker's, to which the latter noticed and blushed while Elizabeth's eyes wandered up and down the shoreline, soaking in every bit of detail as if this were the last chance she'd ever to get to see such a sight again. Booker steeled his nerves to hide his reaction to her innocence and proceeded toward the turnstiles when he heard the girl take in a deep breath.

"Do you smell that? Have you ever smelled anything like that before?" She asked taken in by the allure of the recreational area. To her credit, Booker hadn't quite encountered such a pristine shoreline in his lifetime so it was a first for him as well.

"Honestly, no. The beaches I've been to never held a candle to this place." Booker responded to which Elizabeth nodded with a thoughtful look.

"Well, perhaps you haven't been to the right beaches yet? Once we leave we'll travel the whole world and visit all of the best beaches…among the other marvelous treasures of God's creation! Starting with Paris!" Booker paused in his stead as Elizabeth carried on a few steps before turning to face the detective to ascertain why their progress had halted.

"You'd want to travel with me?" Booker asked not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice.

"Certainly, you seem an honest, if not a bit rogue-ish, type. Besides, I rather enjoy the idea of traveling around with you. Do you find such a prospect, disagreeable?" Elizabeth asked with a hint of sadness painting her tone as a slight frown befell her full lips. Booker dry-swallowed and chose his next words very carefully.

"No…not exactly anyway, I just figured you'd want to go off alone or travel with someone more your age or somethin'." Booker shrugged, in his estimation just about anyone would prove a better companion, particularly for world travel. He wasn't dim by any means but he wasn't exactly worldly, he was sure a lot of the beauty and splendor that someone like Elizabeth would find in such a trip would probably be lost on him.

"Nonsense. Half the fun of traveling is having someone to share in the experience! In any case, it's not as if you're that much older than I, what are you, twenty-six, twenty-seven…" Elizabeth trailed off, fishing for additional information on her savior.

"I'm twenty-eight, I'll have you know." Booker responded with a light scoff, surprising even himself with the slight indignation that his own words carried.

"Well I'm twenty-one, seven years difference is hardly scandal-worthy. Why I've read about several couples whose difference spans decades." Elizabeth stated in a matter-of-fact manner. Booker coughed with a slight blush, curious as to whether or not Elizabeth meant to suggest what her words implied. The detective had a devious thought enter his head and decided call her out and see where it lead and responded with a grin.

"So we're a couple now?" He leveled as he stood with arms akimbo and crooked his jaw to hide the grin he had at putting one over her, his eyebrow raised as if to further imply his eagerness to hear her response.

"What? That's not…I mean…I didn't mean to suggest...but that's not to say that…" Elizabeth sputtered as she attempted to walk a very fine line to which Booker laughed and approached the flabbergasted woman, resting a reassuring hand upon her slight shoulder which stopped her in her tracks, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

"Relax, I was just putting you in the spotlight. No harm, no foul…come on, let's get moving." Booker tilted his head once more toward the turnstiles and turned to start walking. Elizabeth gave a look of confusion then a slight look of frustration as she marched up to her savior's side.

"That was very cheeky of you, Mister DeWitt! Putting me on like that!"

"You're absolutely right, I'm sorry, I just figured it would make for good fun. Forgive me?" He pleaded as he offered his arm for service to escort the lady across the sandy shore. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and linked her arm with his.

"Of course, Mister DeWitt. What's that you said back there, 'no harm, no foul'?" Elizabeth smiled and proceeded with Booker's pace as they made their way toward the entryway to the remainder of the boardwalk. The walk up was mostly brief, with Booker constantly looking about the area for any signs of trouble while Elizabeth observed various friends and collective families enjoying their holiday with utter fascination. Though her observations were cut short by the coquettish giggles of three women holding parasols talking just loudly for the pair to hear them.

"Mmm…look at him ladies. It's a crime someone doesn't get him a nice set of trunks." One of the three declared and the others joined her in laughter as three sets of eyes lay upon the detective who blushed at the sudden wave of attention from the fairer sex. He didn't bother acknowledging them, opting to continue forward without much incident. Elizabeth on the other hand had observed the whole scene, however brief, and set to chewing her bottom lip in concern. As the duo approached the turnstiles, Booker looked down and noticed Elizabeth's brow furrowed in thought.

"Hey, Elizabeth. You alright?" He asked genuinely concerned.

"What? Oh yes, I'm fine just…thinking…" Elizabeth began with a start, not realizing they had already crossed the beach as a strange anxiety took hold of her.

"About?" Booker asked in an attempt to ascertain the reason to this sudden shift in attitude.

"Oh um just how exactly we're going to get out of Columbia?" Elizabeth lied tactfully, granted it wasn't a full lie but she didn't feel like talking about the issue that she herself didn't fully understand just yet. Booker took her question with serious consideration and smiled.

"Well if that's all then no need to worry, I spotted an advert for an airship near here. All we need to is _commandeer _it and we'll be off scot-free." Booker declared and pushed through the turnstile offering for Elizabeth to follow. The girl for her part smiled at this revelation, an airship meant endless possibilities for global travel. With giddy delight, she did her best to hide the squeal of excitement that threatened to burst from her tight lips as she nearly collided with DeWitt, who stood observing his surroundings.

"Huh, looks like a gift shop of sorts, best not to dally as the owner's probably not too far." He spoke softly and made his way forward looking about the various memorabilia and bric-a-brac. Rows of bird-like dolls filled the upper shelves, while the lowers were strewn with boy-ish dolls dressed up like scouts, a Columbian thing no were various 'tin-men' dolls and mannequins as well as American Flags and banners on full display.

"Mister DeWitt, look!" came a cry from behind and Booker turned on his heel, ready to react to any threat that dare cross them only to see a rather amusing sight.

"Look at me, I'm number sixteen, 'four score and seven years ago…'" Elizabeth lowered her voice to emulate the long dead Abraham Lincoln as she dawned a large Lincoln-esque helmet, though the detective couldn't say he wasn't surprised at the demonic representation at the nation's former commander-in –chief.

"Cute, Elizabeth." Came the amused response of the detective as he shook his head with a chuckle, matched only by Elizabeth's laughter as she removed the headpiece and placed it back where she found it. Booker continued his way through the store, perusing the different flags and paraphernalia offered up when he heard Elizabeth's breath hitch and saw that she had come face to face with a rather large depiction of the Prophet.

"Comstock…" she whispered as she brought her hands together in a fit of nerves. Booker rounded a table and came to stand behind her and looked upon the image with disdain. Here was a man willing to imprison an innocent girl in a tower all her life for his own twisted purposes. It didn't have any of the makings of a man of God to Booker; instead it wreaked greed and self-aggrandizement.

"Give a man a little power, he falls in all kinds of love with himself." Booker sneered as he urged Elizabeth to carry-on but she stood, as if she were mesmerized by the intensity of the man in the image.

"I-I don't like his look." Elizabeth declared softly and gave a yelp of fright as a man in a red and white-stripped jacket appeared from the darkness and began to speak.

"Do you dislike the look of the Prophet, young lady? Or his gaze?" He charged with a dark tone and Booker took the opportunity to step in between the pair, leveling a predatory look at the man who seemed to flinch as the former soldier stood at his full height and power.

"Can we go now? I should very much like to leave." Elizabeth said, grasping Booker's hand in her own and attempting to pull him toward the nearest exit.

"Yeah, let's go. Pardon the intrusion, sir." Booker offered in faux politeness as the man merely tipped his hat and went back to whatever task he had set his hand to prior to their arrival. Booker and Elizabeth spent the next few moments in silence as they ascended a nearby staircase to the upper-level of the boardwalk and as they reached the top, Elizabeth began once more.

"Well that was certainly a strange encounter, wouldn't you say?" Booker grunted and held his side as he leaned heavily against the railing at the top, suddenly having lost his breath at the feeling of intense pain radiating from the left of his abdomen.

"Mister DeWitt, are you hurt?" Elizabeth ran to his aid but Booker waved her off as he stood up once more.

"No, I'm fine…just a little reminder that it's not wise to leap from the tops of tall buildings." He chuckled.

"I'll say...that fall did you no favors…I'll see if I can come up with something that'll help ease the pain."

"I won't hold you to it or nothin', but thanks." Elizabeth smiled at his words and began perusing the various shops that lined the particular section of the boardwalk. Booker took note himself of the candy station offering salted-caramel and other confectionaries. Booker hadn't been in the mood for sweets and politely informed the shop owner that he had just come to browse and turned his attention to the newsstand directly across. The latest edition had just hit the shelves with the bold title, '_**ANARCHISTS LOOSE IN OUR FAIR CITY' **_underscored by a quote from some character by the name of Warden Watts claiming that death was too good for 'em. Booker began to read the article, catching note of a Daisy Fitzroy being attributed to their actions but was interrupted by the desperate calls by his charge.

"Mister DeWitt—Here, come look at these!" Elizabeth beckoned urgently to which Booker nodded at the newsstand operator and left to attend to the girl who looked down at something just out of his view with fervent indecision.

"What's going on?" Booker asked and Elizabeth turned on her heel to present two jewelry boxes, each holding two distinct gilded pendants; the left illustrated a birdcage sans the bird while the right illustrated a bird in free flight.

"Look at these, they're absolutely gorgeous! Which one do you like more, Mister DeWitt?" Elizabeth asked akin to one desperately seeking approval from a superior.

"Uh-hm." Booker paused and rubbed his chin. "I guess the real question is which do you prefer, Elizabeth?"

"The bird is _beautiful _and the cage is somber…but there's something really special about it…I just can't decide." Elizabeth pouted as she looked between the two pendants and her savior, waiting for him to make the final call. Booker gave one more look between the two and made his decision.

"I say the bird, it's more your personality anyway." Booker decided and turned toward the stand operator.

"Are you sure?" She asked with a measure uncertainty giving way to the delight of Booker's choice.

"I'm sure." He confirmed as he brought his attention to the jolly man standing by and watching the display. "How much for the ware?"

"Oh for a lovely young couple such as yourselves, let's say ten eagles, a special discount." Elizabeth's eyes went wide and Booker opened the coin purse and retrieved two five pieces placed them on the wooden counter.

"Here are ten for the pendent, much obliged." Booker paid the man and placed the cage pendant back in the hands of the shop owner. Booker then retrieved the bird pendant from its container and motioned for Elizabeth to come closer to him, which she happily acquiesced.

"Just a moment…and there…now you can't say I never bought anything for you." Booker quipped as he attached the pendant to Elizabeth's blue patterned choker and stepped back to admire his handwork. Elizabeth brought her hand to the pendant and smiled brilliantly.

"Oh thank you so very much, Mister DeWitt I absolutely love it. I promise to take very special care of this gift." She declared with newfound pep in her step but before Booker could respond, a horrific sight caught his eye as he turned to face the shoreline. Elizabeth noticed his distinct lack of attention turned to face what he'd seen and brought her hand to her mouth to cover the horror she felt at the terrible sight.

"My God…look…" Elizabeth gasped as she stepped toward the bannister and watched the clouds gave way to the sight of Monument Tower in a hulking heap of a burning twisted metal frame and debris. Shocked and terrified murmurs resounded all around the pair, but Booker was solely focused on Elizabeth who looked torn.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?"

"It was home." She replied somberly, tears threatening to spill across her cheeks.

"We should probably get going." Booker reached for the stricken girl's hand and with a soft nod, they turned and left the scene without drawing so much as a single stare. They stepped away from the crowds and inside only to be faced with a rather imposing security checkpoint leading to an arcade. Booker instinctively rubbed his right hand, he knew if those police officers got one look at his hand this whole effort would go to hell in a hand basket. Booker noticed a door at the end of a hall way and made a sly dash taking Elizabeth in tow to escape the watchful eye of Columbia's Finest, only to find the door locked.

"Great! Just great! Damn thing's locked." He threw his hands up in frustration but Elizabeth passed him by and retrieved a small metal tool from her sleeve and set to work on the door.

"What are you doing?" He asked, curious as to what the girl was driving at.

"Oh please, what does it look like I'm doing…done!" Elizabeth's hushed tone of glee met Booker's ears as she pushed the doors open with a satisfied smile.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?" He asked as they traversed the corridors in hope of finding a suitable exit bringing them closer to their intended target.

"Trapped in a tower with nothing but books and spare time? You would be surprised what I know how to do." Elizabeth retorted as they walked down the carpeted hallways. Booker gave her a look and smiled.

"Oh would I now? Care to enlighten me?" Booker asked somewhat suggestively, containing the laughter behind his words. Elizabeth blushed and looked down to the side.

"I assure you Mister DeWitt it wasn't my intention to…wait, you're having fun at my expense again aren't you?" Elizabeth huffed with her own coy grin.

"What? Me!? Never." Booker smiled and the pair shared a laugh as they continued down the corridor. Eventually they passed through a few separate rooms and made their way into the large arcade room, bustling with all sorts of activity and children's merriment. Standing directly to their right was a man wearing a sign advertising free cotton candy; Elizabeth rushed forward and approached the man.

"Excuse me, sir. What's that?" She asked innocently as she observed the strange substance wrapped around the paper cones.

"Why it's cotton candy, miss. One the best treats this side of heaven! Here you are, miss." He handed her a free selection and went back to advertising for any in earshot to get a chance for having free cotton candy. Elizabeth thanked the man politely and returned to Booker's side, her eyes beamed with delight.

"My word, Mister DeWitt, this is absolutely amazing! Have you ever had something so delectable?" Booker watched her scarf the confection down in half amazement and half curiosity. His initial instinct was to ask how one such as herself had never experienced something as simple as cotton candy before now, but he had to remind himself that she wasn't likely to have experienced much of the simpler things that the common man took for granted given her life-long stint in the tower. Before he could respond, a young woman came up behind him and gave a short cough to gain his attention.

"Excuse me, kind sir? Would you happen to have the time?" She asked with an implicative tone. Booker went to retrieve his watch to provide an answer and in doing so never noticed Elizabeth appearing at his side.

"It's about…7:30" Elizabeth's response was quick and to the point. The woman's smile vanished and a light scowl that could almost be missed took its place.

"Of course, thank you very much, miss." The woman retorted and all but stormed off in a huff. Booker for his part was amazed at the whole display, not quite understanding what just happened and never quite getting the opportunity to ask as Elizabeth had moved on to the next flight of fancy that captured her attention.

"Look, Flawless Flintlock! It's the newest one in the series. I heard they had to re-write the story several times before releasing the final version" Booker nodded his head in vague interest, he had never heard of nor seen such a series before now. His attention had been more placed on the motorized patriot on display; it was truly out of this world. Clearly modeled after President George Washington in both appearance and in vocalization as it spouted the various deeds of the first president. Something about it gave Booker the creeps, as if he'd seen it somewhere else before, but rather than be taken in by such dark thoughts he instead gathered Elizabeth and proceeded up the stairs to another series of turn styles leading up to another turnstile promising to behold the _The First Lady. _

"Annabelle?!" A woman in a black jumpsuit cried as she faced Elizabeth.

"Excuse me?" The young woman responded in shock, having clearly never laid eyes upon this black-clad woman before now.

"Annabelle, it's me, Esther!"

"Oh no, I'm not Annabelle." Elizabeth corrected with a nervous laugh.

"Are you sure?"

"No, in fact my name is Elizabeth, have I ever made your acquaintance?" Elizabeth offered politely as she had been instructed but the woman seemed to be in a world of her own.

"Elizabeth, isn't that a lovely name. You and your friend take care now." With that she entered the turnstile and ascended the stairs beyond and out of view. Elizabeth turned back to Booker with a confused look coloring her face.

"That was certainly…odd, wouldn't you say?" Elizabeth sputtered as she attempted to make sense of the strange interaction. Booker for his part stood there with every nerve in his body screaming at him that something was amiss, the fact that somebody had called her Annabelle did nothing to ease his already addled mind but to call her out in such a strange way; it spelled trouble with a capital "T" in Booker's estimation.

"Elizabeth, do me a favor and stay close from now on. Don't dally or wander off, alright?" He asked as he unclipped the two holsters in his rig and approached the mechanical turnstiles and passed through, the girl quickly following suit.

"O-Oh, okay Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth agreed as something about his tone warned her sensibilities that this was not a subject open for debate. As they approached the stairs, the nearby guard made the announcement that the park would be closing soon, not that the pair paid any mind as they had already gained entry. As they reached the top of the first set of stairs, Elizabeth carried ahead while Booker passed a little more slowly and caught a rather stilted conversation between a shoe-shiner and his customer; something definitely was off.

Booker quickly caught up and passed through the next entryway with Elizabeth and the pair passed a hotdog stand with an even more stilted conversation being carried between patron and vender concerning the various selection of hot dogs; Booker leered at the gentlemen for a moment before following Elizabeth closely into the ticketing hall where the woman from before along with several other strangers sat, each going about their business. It was only when they approached the group did all eyes fall upon the duo; Booker leaned over to tell Elizabeth not to leave his side. She nodded rapidly and Booker approached the ticket booth. Booker tapped the bell to get the ticket booth operators attention as he sat at his desk talking to some stranger on the other end.

"Two tickets for passage to the First Lady airship, if you wouldn't mind." Booker calmly request as he looked over at Elizabeth who offered a kind smile before returning his attention to the rather rude operator.

"Yeah, just a minute friend." He responded before turning around. "_Yeah, I have it, how do you want to proceed?" _He finished slowly into the receiver, giving Booker cause to furrow his brow in concern. His military instincts lit up like the fireworks during the Fourth of July.

"Listen, buddy, the lady and I are in a bit of a rush…do you mind?" Booker offered just as his ear twitched at hearing the rather distant voice of his charge warning of the strangers about the dangerous proximity of mustard to his suit. Before Booker could turn and call back the operator spoke once more.

"_Mmmm-Hmmm. I got it. I'll ring you back once the matters in hand. _Booker didn't like this one bit. "_Send in the bird and alert the mothmen, we're ready to execute." _

"Scuse me, sir! Can I _please _get some help."? Booker asked as he slammed his fist down on the counter. At this point the ticket booth operator stood up and hung up the phone.

"Certainly sir, sorry about the WAIT!" He shouted as he sunk a thick knife directly through Booker's palm. Booker screamed in pain as he reached for the knife but stopped when he heard a scuffle behind him.

"What are you doing? Get away from me!" She shouted a nearby man as she slapped him across the face. This managed to keep him back but all of the others quickly surrounded her and closed in rapidly.

"Hang on, Elizabeth!" Booker shouted as he reached down with his left hand and withdrew the Mauser from his side and fired a few rounds into the retreating figure of the ticket booth operator who dropped dead at near the exit at the far end of his room. Booker set the gun down and began the endeavor of removing the knife from his hand and counter so that he might have a chance of keeping Elizabeth safe.

"I _said_ stay…AWAY!" He heard her shout once more behind him, followed by hushed whispers.

"To hell with it." Booker grumbled and ripped the knife out in one smooth stroke, causing him to cry out as the sharp pain traversed the length of his arm. He hadn't time to concern himself with such matter and the detective promptly retrieved the weapon and turned to find Elizabeth holding her arm up toward the attackers and several pieces of luggage, musical instrument, and other objects floating about her in a protective sphere. With a mighty heave from her arms, the floating objects launched forward and threw the would-be assailants back into the walls with sickening crunches.

"What the…?" Booker started but the words died on the spot as the young girl faltered and swayed backward as if she were about to faint. Booker launched into action and caught her before she fell, noticing a steady stream of blood pouring from her left nostril. "Whoa there I gotchya."

"B-Booker…" Elizabeth started but the detective shushed her, as the lights were cut-off and the telltale sound of a policeman's whistle echoed about the room. Booker hauled Elizabeth toward the rear of the room and situated her on one of the benches out of harms way.

"Elizabeth, in a few moments there's gonna be some trouble I need you to promise me you'll stay here until I say otherwise, okay?" Booker asked as the girl sat there, eyes half-lidded. "Elizabeth, focus, please! Just say that you understand!"

"I-I understand." She responded, her voice weak from whatever the experience she just endured happened to be, with this girl Booker wasn't certain if anything he could do prepare himself. Just as the former soldier made to leave, he felt a small hand catch his wrist with unusual strength.

"P-please, be careful, Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth pleaded as she struggled to keep her head up, Booker smiled.

"Hey, I've been through worse scrapes, trust me. Now stay here and stay quiet." Booker ordered as the sounds of heavy footfalls resounded about the chamber and in moments several heavily arms officers entered the hallway that had been previously sealed off by means of gate.

"THERE HE IS! OPEN FIRE!" One of them shouted as he caught a glimpse of the former solider as he moved from one pillar to the other. Booker returned fire with his Mauser as the gates opened, allowing for the men to bridge the gulf between them. One of the officers blew their whistle again and the others charged into the room, firing upon Booker's position. The veteran holstered his Mauser and retrieved his Hand Cannon from its confines.

"_Gotta be fast or this whole place'll be swarming with these guys and God knows who else." _Booker thought as he concentrated on brining the _Murder of Crows _vigor to bear and within moments the echoing cries of a crow filled his ears.

"Alright False Shepard, come on out and we promise your death'll be quick and painless." One of the officers called as the others chuckled and cocked their weapons once more. Booker swallowed and took a breath to calm himself.

"Yeah, hard pass!" He shouted and stepped out into full view and cast his arm outward and with it a murder of crows flew at the officers, pecking at their soft tissues and overwhelming their comparatively weaker numbers. The screams of horror filled the room and Booker cursed himself as he thought about how Elizabeth must be feeling. Deciding this needed to end, Booker took aim and let his trigger finger fly as three of the officers went down without so much as a struggle thanks to the distraction of the crows. Booker winced in pain as the assault had been quite taxing on his newly injured hand.

The veteran let his guard down to tend to the damaged appendage for only a moment, leaving him wide open to an assault from a heavily bleeding officer armed only with a nightstick as he swung with rage for Booker's skull. The veteran narrowly avoided the assault, instead catching the brunt of the swing with his shoulder as he barreled headlong into the man, knocking his would-be killer off balance long enough to retrieve his Skyhook and jam it into the officer's abdomen, pulling the trigger and bringing a bitter end to the poor soul.

"Elizabeth, stay where you are, I'm going to make sure the coast is clear…" Booker called out but there was no response and at that moment his heart nearly pounded through his chest at the horrific possibilities that she may have caught a stray round amidst the crossfire. "Elizabeth?"

"I-I'm h-here." Her fragile voice called out and Booker clenched his eyes shut in regret for causing her such dismay. The veteran carefully crept out into the long hallway and aimed his weapon ready to kill whatever dare challenge his passage. Surprisingly, there were no other assailants waiting in the wings for his arrival. Booker holstered the weapon and returned to the girl, who sat there holding her head as tears streaked down her unblemished cheeks.

"Shh-shhh-shhh, I got you, c'mon." Booker softly caressed her brown locks as he picked her exhausted form up bridal style and carried her down the hall, noting the various advertisements for a new vigor comings soon by the name of _Shock Jockey. _The pair rounded the corner and found a sky-railcar ready and waiting, apparently powered by this latest invention from the brilliant minds behind Columbia. Booker took to the right and made his way up the steps to set Elizabeth down in the empty passenger car, to turn and pull the lever to engage transportation. One the vehicle began to operate, Booker sighed and relief and leaned heavily against the glass window.

"Why?" a soft broken voice shot through the stifling silence, startling Booker from his own selfish thoughts as he looked over to see Elizabeth standing up, nose completely free of any blood or mare, gazing intently out into cloudy sky beyond.

"I'm sorry…" Booker offered lamely but the girl continued.

"Those people, _these _people, they're willing to die to take me back…why?"

"Elizabeth, I don't know much about your situation…" Booker began as Elizabeth turned to face him. "But from what I can tell…you're somethin' pretty special to some very powerful people up here…powerful enough to want to keep you locked away for…God only knows what purpose…" He stopped as he thought about his next words.

"I-I suppose it was silly of me…" She stopped and noted Bookers confused look. She chuckled darkly. "To think I could just make a clean get away and not look back."

"No, not silly…optimistic maybe, but not silly." Booker retorted, earning a half-sob/half-chuckle from the girl as she attempted to clear her eyes from the impending tear fall with a handkerchief she kept handy.

"What do they want from me?" She asked honestly as she stepped a little closer to the detective.

"To them you're an investment…for what sinister purpose, I haven't a damn clue, all I know is…" Booker stopped as another pang of torment ripped through his right hand and he brought it up into full view as he clutched his wrist in some vain hope to stop the pain. "…That's the last time they get the drop on me…".

"Oh my God, Mister DeWitt…your hand!" She cried and rushed to his side, taking his arm in her own, not paying any mind to his wince of pain. "Here, let me." She insisted as she pulled some extra blue material from her skirt and began to triage his wounded appendage.

"What happened back there, that…that's not the last of it, is it? She asked, her voice cracking at the thought of violence.

"I don't know…" Booker paused and realized this girl didn't need his dark and dour outlook, so he improvised and hoped for a more positive reaction. "…Then again, how often does a guy see the girl he rescued toss stuff around without laying a finger on it?" He offered with a laugh earning him a light blush and giggle in response.

"There…all better, for the moment." Elizabeth finished and smiled as she softly pet the bandage as a sort of seal of approval.

"Thanks…but, seriously, what was that back there?" Booker asked as he rubbed the pristine bandage work that Elizabeth had completed with admiration, she could have put over half the field medics to shame with her skills.

"That…I-I'm not sure, a Russian researcher by the name of Alexander Aksakof once referred to similar phenomenon as telekinesis…but to answer your question, the last time I remember doing that was when I was very little…I tried numerous times since and it always hurt, like closing a door on your finger…but when I tried it back there…it hurt less, a lot less…" Elizabeth trailed off as she fiddled with her hands once more, a decisively nervous habit Booker figured as he reached out and clasped her shoulder.

"Well, don't worry, when we make it out of here, taking you shopping is gonna be a breeze." He laughed hoping to get some kind of positive reaction. Seeing her smile meant huge success in his eyes and with that both of them looked ahead as the cart neared the station.

* * *

Booker and Elizabeth departed from the railcar after a short period of travel and passed by the emptied vendor carts and newsstands as they entered a set of turnstiles leading into a part of the park called _Soldier's Field. _The pair walked into the main room, wherein they were treated to some Columbian 'call-to-action' melody as a large patriotic-themed mechanical bird moved to the tune, while a row of saluting scouts circled on an electric conveyer.

"Soldier's Field, built in 1903 by the hand of our Prophet." Elizabeth muttered as she looked across the room and noted a small display of the park floating above a foundation with a plague that read the very same information.

"Huh, that's funny, I don't imagine a Prophet having much use for a carnies and carousels…but to each their own, I guess." Booker observed as Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement.

"No, it's much more devious than most realize. This place is themed to acquaint children with national service." She clarified with a hint of disgust lacing her voice.

"You mean like the military?" Booker asked, not wanting to consider the darker possibilities of such an insinuation.

"Train up the child in the way he should go, even when he is old, he will not depart from it." She recited somberly.

"Proverbs twenty-two, verse six…doesn't seem like what the good Lord had in mind, if you ask me." Booker concluded to the surprise of his companion.

"Mister DeWitt, I must say, you've caught me off guard. I didn't take you for a man of the scriptures." The young woman admitted as they proceeded toward the gate at the opposite end of the room.

"I wouldn't go that far, I mean sure I went to church just about every Sunday right up until I enlisted…but then…well…let's just say I'm finding my way back one step at a time." The detective finished rather clumsily as he approached the station housing a violent ball of electricity. Elizabeth thought about pressing him further about it, but opted to hold off until a better time presented itself, as she too was curious about the floating ball of electro-static discharge.

"Who needs the power company?" She read from a nearby advertisement as Booker approached the gate. Within taking two steps, the metallic barrier slammed down and the blue and white ball of electricity exploded in a brilliant shower of light and sparks.

"A fool's alternative to conventional electricity, no doubt." Booker said with a gasp as the sudden denial of access had caught him off guard.

"Doesn't seem very reliable to me." Elizabeth conjectured as she looked to the detective for any sense on how to proceed further. Booker motioned for her to stay back as he approached the gate with newfound caution and as he bent over, found a grip, and hoisted the metallic barrier up just high enough for Elizabeth to walk through and for him to scamper beneath before letting it slam shut beneath him.

The pair rounded the next corner and proceeded down a well-built walkway with a large banner constructed with lights that read, 'Welcome To Soldier's Field' shining the way as the sun began to set behind the far off horizon. As Booker and Elizabeth strolled down, a large airship flew over head at a lower altitude, allowing for both to read the obvious name emblazoned on either side of the dirigible.

"There she is. The First Lady, Looks like it's heading for the dock!" Booker noted as a happy glint returned once more to Elizabeth's brilliant blue eyes.

"Then we can finally be rid of this city!" Elizabeth exclaimed with joy, clapping her hands as she did so.

"Right, just stay close." Booker reminded her as they continued down the walkway.

"Yes, Mister DeWitt." She responded readily.

"Call me Booker."

"Oh, al-alright, Booker." She said, as if getting used to the idea of calling a man she had only just met hours prior by his first name. It was an unusual name to say the least, but to her sensibilities it was a bit more intimate given the nature of their relationship. However, it was not displeasing in the slightest, in fact the more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of calling him 'Booker'. She gave a slight giggle, slightly capturing the attention of the man in question.

"Something the matter?" He asked.

"No, _Booker, _I think everything's going to be just fine." Elizabeth offered plainly with a smile as she caught up to the detective, who just stared at her perplexed at what had just transpired. Chalking it up to the events of the day, he shook his head as his stomach growled.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Think we have enough time to stop in and grab a bite to eat?" He asked coyly as Elizabeth nodded eagerly.

"Certainly, I myself am quite famished. Though it was quite delicious, that cotton candy doesn't go far in the ways of quenching one's appetite." Elizabeth agreed as she took Booker's hand in hers once more, earning a look of confusion from the detective as she smiled in rebuttal. He shrugged and walked them over to the hot-dog vender.

"You ever had a hotdog before?" He asked the girl as she shook her head in the negative. "Didn't think so. 'Scuse me, we'll take two."

"Certainly sir, one for you and your lovely young wife." He offered with a suave demeanor as he handed Booker the pair.

"Oh I'm sorry we're not…" Elizabeth began to correct the vendor, but the man waved her off.

"Ah, don't worry, a guy like that'll come around eventually, especially for a pretty young thing like yourself." Elizabeth merely blushed and Booker rolled his eyes as he turned around and handed the young woman her hot dog.

"Sorry about that, people like to assume I guess…" Booker trailed off not noticing Elizabeth's scarlet cheeks.

"Oh it's quite alright, I didn't mind." She responded as she took her first bite of a hot dog. Booker watched her in fascination at both the facial contortions she made at the new flavorful experiences she had endured as well as what she had just spoken. If Booker didn't know better he'd suggest that she was implying something, but she was the innocent type and if today had been any indication of her character, doublespeak was _not _in her repertoire.

"Vhis is Dewishus!" She proclaimed with her mouth filled to the brim with bread and sausage as she continued to wolf down the classic American food. Booker took several larger-than-normal bites of his own, owed primarily to the fact that the last time he had eaten anything was a little over twelve hour ago. Booker looked up at the _Duke & Dimwit: Ice Cream Parlor _and drifted back to Elizabeth.

"I suppose you've never had anything other than vanilla ice cream, too." He said as he finished off his own hot-dog.

"There's more than one flavor!?" She nearly screamed in joy as she took the detective's hand and dragged him inside. Booker laughed as they made their way up to the front of the line and watched as the girl ordered some unholy combination of every flavor offered on their largest scoop. Booker simply asked for a scoop of mint-chocolate and paid the man extra for his trouble as the pair left and proceeded down the boardwalk.

"So, uh, Booker, I've noticed something." Elizabeth began as she paused to try one of the many flavors she had purchased.

"Go ahead, shoot."

"The way you speak, it's as if you've never heard of nor seen Columbia before?" She partially asked and partially stated as Booker thought to himself.

"Well, I had heard about the city waaay back in the day, but I guess my life went in one direction and Columbia went in another…the last time the two crossed paths wasn't the most pleasant. Less said about that the better." He finished, effectively closing that path of conversation. The pair kept walking down a ways, passing several closed booths for merriment as well as a path to an area called the _Hall Of Heroes__,_ when Elizabeth began once more.

"So, what exactly do you do for a living, Mister DeWitt?" She asked inquisitive as to the nature of this man she would be spending a considerable amount of time with. She wanted to get to know him and know whom she was consorting with.

"At present, I'm working for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency," He said motioning the badge on his rig as he finished off the cone and tossed remains in the nearest trash receptacle before returning to the girl. "I'm an investigator for whatever the company deems to be worthy of their time."

"Pinkerton's…aren't' they the ones called in to settle things when workers take to striking?" Elizabeth pondered, harkening back to the few readings she had performed on the subject from her time in the tower. Booker pulled at his collar at the insinuation and cleared his throat.

"That's a…uh…different side of the house as it were, I'm an investigator through and through. I didn't spend ten years in the marines to become one of those..._strikebreakers." _He spat with vitriol. It wasn't that he supported striking or even denounced it for that matter. The problem lay with the practice of sending in private resources to rough up workers and cause injury to anyone who stepped out of line, it didn't seem like a proper line of work for any man worth his salt.

"I'm sorry…wait…marines…you served in the United States Marines?" Elizabeth latched on to that factoid like a dog on a juicy steak. Booker, however, didn't feel too comfortable sharing too much of that aspect of his past with anyone, especially someone as sweet and naïve as Elizabeth.

"Later…if you stick around long enough, I _might _tell you a tale or two of my days." Booker promised as they approached the edge of the dock, where upon a waiting station for a gondola to the First Lady was positioned; another Shock Jockey container lit the way to the increasingly darkening environment.

"I'll hold you to that, Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth promised with a bit of cheek in her voice.

"Oh I have no doubt of that." Booker replied as he grasped the handle to summon the gondola and gave it a good yank. At first nothing happened, then the familiar sound of an overload filled their ears and another brilliant explosion light brightened the whole area.

"Damn…" Booker muttered as he looked around for an alternative source of power.

"Looks like this runs exclusively on Shock Jokey." Elizabeth surmised as she too had looked around and found no such luck at alternative means of power.

"Of course it is, why not." He sighed and turned back to face the girl when he noticed a marque to the right of container.

"Look! By the looks of this, it looks like we might be able to find what we're looking for at the Hall of Heroes." Elizabeth offered as the detective retrieved his pocket watch and checked the time; it was close to 9:30 at this point.

"Well that looks like a job for the earliest available time tomorrow, for now we're gonna need to find a place to stay for the evening." Booker concluded as he returned his pocket watch to the confines of his waistcoat.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't it be wiser to carry-on without stopping?" Elizabeth suggested as she followed Booker back toward the shops and other establishments.

"Normally I would agree, but this city is going to be crawling with lawmen and other such obstacles set forth in hopes of catching us, or rather me, on the run. It Would be a lot safer to lay low and head out just before first light tomorrow." Booker concluded to which Elizabeth nodded, having made up her own mind that the detective's logic was sound.

"_**Gentlemen, The False Shepard is loose in the streets of our fair city!" **_Began a strong female voice over the local P.A. system. **"Will you suffer the shame of allowing your wives and your daughters to fall pray to his machinations? Or will you act! Act for your woman folk! Act for your Prophet! Act!**

Booker looked at Elizabeth whose face was wrought with concern as their situation had apparently taken a turn for the worse at this realization. The police now knew her savior walked the streets of Columbia and it was only a matter of time before her captors would seek to return her to similar confines.

"It looks like the proverbial cat is out of the bag now, should we carry on then?" Elizabeth sounded worried as she looked about her fellow man and watched as husbands consoled their wives and children. Booker however saw this as a potential opportunity.

"Elizabeth, I have an idea. If I ask you now, will you go along with my little scheme I've cooked up?" He asked as he reached his hand out for her to grasp in affirmation.

"Of course, you've not given me reason to distrust you yet!" She smiled and gladly took his hand as he lead her back down the way, not seeing the briefest of frowns upon his face.

* * *

_Hotel Soldier's Field_

* * *

Hotel Manager Horace Winslow was in a terrible fit this night as he listened to the radio affixed to his counter, keeping an intent ear as the host warned any and all tuned in to be ware of the beguiling False Shepard who had been out and about the city of Columbia, causing all sorts of terror and mischief. To make matters worse, it was now reported that he was in cahoots with those no-good Vox Populi, and was directly responsible for the destruction of Monument Tower. Thank the Lord, the Prophet had foreseen this in enough time to move the lamb, but now the real trial had come, to find and capture the False Shepard.

"I've been saying it for years darling, the False Shepard could come at any moment and now he has…and everyone's out there panicking, not me, I knew this day would come and I tell you the minute I see that despicable devil, I'll put one between his demon eyes myself!" The older man declared with gusto as he retrieved an old service revolver from his drawer and placed it on the counter.

"Honey, I rather doubt such a man is going to come looking for a room for the night!" Came the soft response from his wife, Mary Winslow, a silver haired slight woman attending to the business paperwork behind him. Just as the man was about to respond, he heard the bell for the front door sound and watched as a young couple approached his front desk.

"We need a room for the night sir." Booker asked rather abruptly as Elizabeth looked between her savior and the couple manning the front desk. Horace looked the couple up and down waved his hand dismissively.

"Look you two, I'm not running a house of ill-repute, you'd be better off going to your respective homes. Don't you know the Devil incarnate is out on the prowl at this late hour!" Horace judged harshly as his wife gave a disapproving look. Booker rolled his eyes and stepped up close to counter and leaned in allowing his badge to shine in the light.

"You see that sir?" Booker asked as the man adjusted his glasses and read the words and looked back up with recognition.

"You're a…" He started but Booker cut him off at the pass.

"That's right, I'm a Pinkerton Detective, hired by the Prophet himself to track down that…" Booker paused for effect, acting the part of sensibility for the 'women folk'. "…Fiend, and stop him from completing his mission!"

"What would that be?" Horace asked with bated breath as his wife stood beside him equally curious, neither noticing Elizabeth's own curious stare at the detective.

"Isn't it obvious? To abscond with the Lamb and send this city to the Sodom below, of course." Booker declared, rather convincingly if he said so himself. Missus Winslow gasped in dread as Horace fumbled about enraged at such a prospect.

"My word, we can't let the scoundrel succeed…and I'm sorry, who is this accompanying you then? I can't imagine you'd drag an innocent into this dreadful business of yours." Horace inquired as Elizabeth looked slightly nervously at Booker, hoping to high heaven he was ready. Fortunately for both, he had thought about this, he just hoped he could sell it.

"She…oh, of course, where are my manners. This is my wife, Elizabeth. Just married, came from New York." Booker introduced as Elizabeth blushed at her protector's scheme and could only nod to corroborate Booker's tale.

"You see Mister uhhh…" Booker began again.

"Winslow…Horace Winslow…and this is my wife, Mary." He began to which his wife offered a polite how do you do to both, to which Elizabeth responded in kind.

"Right, Horace, you see, I had taken the job just before we got married and that very day we came home to find the whole place ransacked. He must have gotten word I would be on to him and laid in wait to try to take me down. I fought him off and chased him all the way through New York to here…we didn't have time to pack or make any arrangements, I knew it was dangerous but it would have been even more dangerous to leave her alone back there…think about what could happen if he came back…I shudder at the thought…" Booker finished rather convincingly as he older couple fell for his lie hook, line, and sinker. They readily agreed and Horace calmed his wife before turning back to the request itself.

"Certainly we have a room available for you right now, top floor. I'll have the missus send for some nightclothes for you both and we do have in house laundry services. So please don't hesitate to make use of them." Horace announced as he handed Booker a key to the room and showed him the way to the elevators.

"Thank you kindly, sir." Booker nodded and Horace took hold of his hand and looked him square in the eye.

"No sir, thank you, it's because of you that my wife and I can sleep safely tonight…knowing that an agent of the Prophet is hard at work to stop that fiendish False Shepard." Booker nodded and clasped the older man's hand in agreement and ushered Elizabeth off and into the nearest elevator.

"What. Was that?" She asked with a short laugh as Booker shrugged.

"I don't know, I kinda made it up as I went along. What? You thought I laid it on too thick?" Booker asked earnestly, for some reason it was important to him what she thought of his performance back there. He wasn't exactly certain as to why, but for some reason he needed her approval.

"No, no, not at all…I thought you were quite convincing. In fact, I'd say you missed your calling as an actor." She mused with a chuckle as Booker waved her off.

"Hardly." Was his only rebuttal as the elevator came to a stop.

* * *

**Endnote: Wow this chapter ended up coming out to be much longer than I initially anticipated. A lot happened and a lot is coming up as Booker and Elizabeth make their way to the Hall of Heroes and meet up with one Cornelius slate. **

**A special thanks go out to Razmire and The Only Liberator, thank you both for your kind reviews! They really help me get through the tough times.**

**Until next time, this is TheLifeLongEditor, signing off. **


	11. Chapter 11: The Tears and The Virgors

**Chapter 11: The Tears and The Vigors**

**Author's Note: Hey all, so here's the next chapter in the series. We have a touching moment between our heroes and then a journey to the Hall of Heroes. Originally this chapter was going to go in a different direction, but alas I started having fun and well here we are so I hope you enjoy it too! **

**My update schedule might be erratic due some changes, so I do apologize for that but I will try to adhere to the schedule as much as possible. **

* * *

The room was remarkably similar in size and in overall decoration to the First Lady hotel, though there were obviously more 'soldier' related aesthetics than his previous accommodations, but the room proved sufficient enough for their needs at the moment. Granted the small issue of sleeping arrangements arose when the pair stepped inside and noticed a singular queen-sized bed, fortunately for Elizabeth whose clear complexion had taken on a scarlet hue, the detective made it immediately known that he would take residence on the sofa while she slept in the bed and urged her to go and take care of any bathing necessities before turning in for the night. With an agreeable nod, Elizabeth stepped into the bathroom and within moments the detective could hear the water beginning to run.

With a sigh of exhaustion, the man made for the window at the opposite end of the room when he heard a soft rap upon the door. His sense on high alert, the seasoned veteran approached the door and looked through the peephole and noticed it was the same woman, Mary, from downstairs. In her hands, the older woman held the desired clothing that had been requested earlier. He put on a smile and opened the door, opting for a polite greeting.

"Evening Miss Winslow." He offered calmly.

"Good evening, sir. Here are the night clothes you requested for yourself and your lovely wife." She explained, offering up the aforementioned clothes as she did so, which Booker gladly accept in kind.

"Of course, thank you. I almost forgot with all of the action of the day." Booker responded with kindness. A part of him felt terrible for lying to such an innocent lady, though a bigger part of him wondered just how she and her husband would react if they found out he was absconding with their precious Lamb. It wasn't a hypothetical he wanted to see play out just yet.

"Certainly, I can completely imagine with everything going on, though I may not necessarily agree with your decision, the fact that you're keeping your wife safe and nearby is laudible…and a boon to keep your head on straight, no doubt." She ended with a polite chuckle as she brought a gloved hand to cover her mouth.

"No doubt." Booker offered as he rolled his eyes and cast a look back into the room to ensure everything was fine.

"Well, I better get going. I don't want to intrude any more than I already have." She made to leave before stopping dead in her tracks and turning back to meet an intrigued Booker. "Wait, I almost forgot. I'll be back by in a short while to collect your clothes, that is…if you and the missus would so desire to make use of our in house laundry services?"

"Um, sure, why not, come back in a few and that'll be fine." Booker acquiesced and reached into his pocket, retrieving a few errant silver dollars to hand over to the helpful steward of the hotel. "Here you are, for the service and clothes. Thanks."

"Certainly sir, have a blessed evening." She politely curtsied, turned heel, and left as the detective shut the door behind him and quickly made his way further back into the room, passing through the adjoining doorway into the main room and approached the bathroom door. The detective gave two soft knocks and called for the bathing girl within.

"Hey Elizabeth, can you hear me?" He asked and received a sharp gasp as the initial response before she gave an actual reply.

"Y-yes, I can hear you."

"You okay?" Booker asked, having noted her rather timid and shaken tone. "Something the matter?"

"C-certainly, I-I mean no, it's just...I've just been alone all my life so naturally when someone knocks while I'm otherwise indisposed, it can be quite a jarring experience." She stated as he could hear the emotion in her tone level out.

"I, um, well, just let me know if I can help out. Anyway, I'm only here to say that we got our sleepin' clothes for the evening and I'm putting your set on the bed for you."

"Thank you, Mister DeWitt."

"Sure, no problem. Oh and I'm also taking advantage of the laundry services so if that Mary lady stops by later this evening, that's why." Elizabeth affirmed her understanding and Booker departed, making sure to firmly close bedroom door behind him, letting her know that he had vacated the premises. Having noticed he still clutched the bundle of pajamas in his arm, the detective placed them down in a heap upon the couch and approached the window, as was his initial intent to observe what sort of nightlife the city in the skies had to offer.

Pulling the curtain aside and placing the draped fabric behind one of the silver hooks secured to either side of the frame, the detective peered down onto the streets below. Unlike New York City, there wasn't a sign of a single breathing soul; it was calming if not a bit unsettling. The dim lights of the street lamps in conjunction with the light fixtures of the various shops shown dimly through a heavy fog that had settled about Soldier's Field, as if to shroud the once glimmering city in a shadow of darkness and despair. In fact, the only sign that the city itself housed some type of life were the ever-active sky-rails, allowing Columbia's cargo to travel to and fro about the city, unimpeded by any barriers or terrestrial obstacles.

Booker made note of the death of any sort of activity after nine o'clock, not that he hoped to extend his stay in the city any longer than this singular night. Not that it wasn't a beautiful experience, but given the nature of his being up here and the identity of his companion, he rather doubted that an extended stay would yield similarly positive results. Just as Booker made to shut the curtain once more, a flash of activity out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Booker turned his head down toward the avenue closest to the hotel and noticed several officers strolling about, ardently observing every nook and cranny that came upon them.

The officers weren't anything outside of the norm, no doubt a scouting party sent out to see if the fabled 'False Shepard' would dare make a made dash at escape under the cover of darkness. Yet it was the mechanical beast that walked among them, the very same from the fairgrounds earlier in the day; it was the metallic man, a can-like body with a rounded head, a mustachioed face with two windows on either side of its head, now shining with the same intensely bright yellow glow that filled its soul-less eyes. Its heavy steps rocked a few of the officers near by, and its lights shown as a carving beam through the fog and all at once the automaton came to a dead stop and looked up at the hotel. Booker could have sworn in that moment, the damn thing was peering directly into his soul as it gave a protracted deep wail and proceeded down a different avenue with the officers following closely at hand. At this point, Booker was so intent upon watching this strange creature of man's hand operate that he hadn't hear any of the activity from his own room, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a foreign pressure upon his shoulder.

"WOAH, JEEZE! Elizabeth, sorry…" Booker turned and pressed his back to the window and his hand at his chest, heaving with heavy intakes of air as the unassuming woman had gotten the better of him.

"I'm sorry, Mister DeWitt. I didn't mean to frighten you." Elizabeth held a hand over her heart in an attempt to regain control of her faculties as the detective's sudden outburst had given her quite a start as well. Though she couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation, here she was scaring the wits out of a heavily armed and dangerous man who had proven quite capable of dispatching everything the city had to offer as of yet. The detective caught this and waved her off.

"You didn't frighten me, I just…let my guard down…what do you want, anyway?" He asked in a vain attempt to salvage some of his pride as he closed the curtain and retreated back into the room, Elizabeth following in his stead.

"Being that as it may, I had called out to let you know I was finished with the bathing room and offered you its use, when you didn't answer, I came looking for you." Elizabeth clarified with an honest innocence that booker admired in a woman. There was no hint of treachery in her words nor did her eyes show anything outside of honest intent. They truly didn't make them like her anymore, that was certain.

"Well I uh, appreciate it. The clothes, are they to your liking, then?" He asked as he removed his rig and belt holster and placed them both on the table facing the fireplace and took the opportunity to observe the girl in her newest attire.

"Certainly, I can honestly say I've never had anything quite like them, it's all rather exciting." She exclaimed with that same infectious smile, giving Booker to return one in kind. The nightgown was simple enough, conservative and functional, yet the detective was positive that she could still turn heads if she wore nothing but a burlap sack.

"I'm sure it is. Listen I'm going to get cleaned up. Don't let anyone in while I'm occupied, okay?" Booker charged as he made for the main door and double checked the lock to ensure that it was secure.

"Of course, Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth agreed as she brought her hands together and watched as the detective made his way toward the bathroom, opting to take the opportunity to speak up once more. "Wait, before you enter!"

"Yeah?" Booker paused as he reached for the bathroom door handle.

"If you'll leave your clothes just outside the door, I'll collect them for you, that way when Mrs. Mary comes by again, we can give her everything at once." Elizabeth offered with a small grin at her idea and Booker nodded in agreement.

"Sounds fine by me, give me a moment and I'll call out for you." The exhausted detective assured and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Elizabeth didn't have to wait long before she heard her savior call out to inform her that his clothes were just out side the doors. To her surprise they were neatly folded up, with his personal effects sitting atop the garments. Elizabeth walked back out into the sitting room and took a seat upon the sofa and set the clothes down and neatly folded up her own that she had brought out in her search for the detective.

Initially, she had been content to sit there and wait, but her curiosity got the better of her and the nosy former captive began to examine her saviors personal affects to gain a better understanding of the man, not that there was very much to go off. The first item was a small, flat-case leather wallet containing several bills of various denominations and Pinkerton National Detective Agency identification and employment card. Elizabeth read over the card, taking note of his birthday for reference.

The next item was an ornate golden pocket watch with an accompanying chain. There was a heft to it but without its wearer feeling over encumbered by the small timepiece. Elizabeth fiddled with the pocket watch for a few moments before pressing the crown to release the small latch keeping the cover sealed to the body of the watch. The clockface was exquisite and the the time piece appeared to be keeping excellent time, but it was the picture that lay within that caused Elizabeth's heart to flutter and her mind to race. It was her, but in a dress she had never worn and posing for a photograph that, to her knowledge, had never been taken before. Elizabeth smiled at the sentimental affect, something about the fact that her savior carried something with her picture inside filled her with a mixture of emotions that she didn't quite understand, though they were far from unpleasant. She resolved to ask the detective about this timepiece at some point in the near future and closed the cover and replaced it where she found it. A knock at the door give the girl a start and she stood to peer through the peephole to see it was Mary.

"Hello Miss Winslow, here for the laundry service?" Elizabeth asked as she opened the door to finding the smiling lady standing before her with a bin in hand.

"Yes Mrs. DeWitt, your husband prepaid for the service and I assure you that our service is both quick and effective." She promoted as the younger woman handed her the clothing.

"Please, call me Elizabeth." The young girl blushed, she had nearly forgotten about the ruse though if she were being totally honest with herself, she wouldn't have necessarily minded being called Misses DeWitt someday. Elizabeth nearly brought her hand up in shock at that last thought.

"Very well, but if you call me Mary. I see you're still getting used to married life?" Mary replied giving the blushing girl a slight nudge.

"Oh, yes, it's all been quite exciting." Elizabeth nodded with a short bout of laughter.

"Don't you worry, I see the way he looks at you, you two will be just fine." Mary winked with surety in her tone as Elizabeth furrowed her brow.

"What do you mean?" She asked and Mary rolled her eyes with a chortle.

"Look, you don't stay married for as long as I have without picking up a few things and if I know one thing for certain, it's that certain look a man gets in his eye." Mary continued as she stepped a little closer to Elizabeth, so as to keep the nature of the conversation out of earshot from any listening guests in the other rooms.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Mary." Elizabeth asked, honestly not sure what the older woman was getting at. In the short time she had spent with Mister DeWitt, he hadn't given her any strange looks or anything of the like.

"Sweetie, the way that man looks at you it's as if there's nothing more important in the world to him. It's the same look Horace gave to me on our wedding day." Mary reflected upon her own wedding day as Elizabeth looked down at her hands and though on Mary's words with a small smile forming on her lips, maybe there was something to the older woman's words.

"Well, I won't hold you up any further. Please give your husband my best, have a good evening." She smiled and proceeded back down the hallway as Elizabeth wished her a good night and stepped back inside, finding a freshly dressed Booker DeWitt standing there, eyes wide.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in!" He began as his voice climbed in volume.

"Relax, Mister DeWitt. As you can clearly see I did _not _let anyone inside." Elizabeth chided as she took a seat and watched amusedly as the detective rubbed his face and grumbled.

"You know what I meant. It's dangerous to go opening the door for just anyone, especially when half the city's out looking for us." Booker waved his hand about as he came around the couch, Elizabeth's gaze never once wavering.

"Well it was Mary, coming to collect the laundry which you had made prior arrangement. So it wasn't just anyone." Elizabeth started as she folded her arms with a smile of success as Booker shrugged his shoulders and sat down.

"You…you always got something to say don't you?" The detective joked.

"That's probably because there's usually something to say." She bantered back. Booker scoffed with faux indignation, and abruptly stood up to start a small fire in the fire place to warm up the room, though it was the middle of summer, up here it still got pretty cold at night. Elizabeth watched the man in fascination and ruminated on her next words, deciding carefully on how she wanted to proceed.

"You know, that Mary Winslow is a very lovely woman. She and I had a very interesting conversation out there in the hall." She began, carefully testing the waters as Booker lit a match and tended to the effort of keeping the flame going.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure you two had plenty to talk about." Booker replied distractedly as he poked at the logs. Elizabeth frowned and then got a devious grin.

"She said she was confident that our _marriage _would be quite successful, and I happened to agree." Booker sat up at that and bumped his head against the rather hefty mantle as he turned to find a giggling Elizabeth.

"You said _what _now?" He asked as he returned to his seat.

"Oh I was 'putting you in the spotlight' as you so eloquently put it at the beach. But in all sincerity, she did make a comment predicting us to have a very successful marriage." Elizabeth controlled herself and stated in a matter of fact tone as Booker rubbed the top of his head and gave a brief shake of his head.

"Shows what she knows about me." He muttered much to Elizabeth's dismay. He didn't outright reject the notion as she had feared he might, but he didn't seem too thrilled about the prospect. Perhaps there was something deeper, she needed to get to the bottom of whatever it was somehow.

"You seem quite gentleman enough to me, Mister DeWitt. I'm sure any lady would be pleased to be your betrothed." The young woman declared proudly, leaning forward as Booker appeared to squirm in his chair.

He didn't know where all of this talk was coming from and it appeared to be upsetting his not-too-delicate sensibilities. Here he only knew this girl for less than a day and she was talking about traveling the world together and now floating hypotheticals concerning marriage. Of course, who was he kidding, he had been dreaming of this girl for months upon months, it wasn't like they were total strangers, hell she even had those drawings in her tower so it wasn't like it would be totally unprecedented. Still even if she were interested, it's not like he could act, not that he would allow himself anyway. As far as he was concerned, Booker J. DeWitt was damaged goods that no poor woman deserved to be stuck with in this life or then next.

"Say, it's gettin' pretty late, you should probably turn in as we have an early morning ahead of us." Booker attempted to end the conversation there and push the young woman away. His attempt failed as the cutest pout formed on her lips and she clenched her fists tight.

"Oh please, it's my first night of freedom from my tower, I'm too tired to sleep!" She cried and Booker rolled his eyes.

"You're not going to be saying that come tomorrow." He retorted and she huffed in response.

"I want to stay up a little bit later, at least to get to know the person who whisked me away from my life of solitary confinement!" She pleaded and Booker gave her a baffled look, the people he encountered didn't really care to learn about him in his experience.

"What could you possible want to know about me?" The detective asked as he craned his neck in order to relieve the stress that had built up, a successful crack was the result.

"I don't know, lots of things, for instance what's your middle name?" She shot out rather suddenly.

"My middle name? What kind of question is that?"

"It's the one I've asked."

"It's James, if you must know, Booker _James _DeWitt. Satisfied?" He answered and she grinned with glint of success in her eyes; he knew he was in trouble now.

"That's a very lovely name, _Booker James DeWitt._ To answer your question, it satisfied that momentary curiosity on that particular subject, but there's so much more I want to know." She exclaimed barely able to contain her glee. Booker was about to show his annoyance when he suddenly realized that this was probably the most human contact this girl's had in probably years, if not her entirely life, he could probably stand to spare the girl a night of twenty questions.

"Okay, go ahead, fire away. But I might have some questions of my own, you know." Booker pointed a finger at the girl as she nodded vigorously.

"Of course, anything you want I'll do my best to answer. Let's see…" She brought a finger to her chin, tapping the edge in thought before snapping her fingers in realization. "Where are you from Mister DeWitt?"

"That's easy, I was born and raised in West Virginia, well my earlier years anyway, we moved out to New York after my dad passed away." He answered nonchallontly as Elizabeth sat there hooked on his every word.

"I'm sorry, when did your father pass?"

"It's alright, it was quite a few years ago, when I was about five or six."

"How did he die, if you don't mind my asking?" Elizabeth followed up rather nervously as she felt herself treading on what could be treacherous territory but the detective didn't seem to mind answering.

"He served in the United States Army. He was a member of the Seventh Calvary and died during the bloody Battle of Wounded Knee, but he died an honest soldier which is more than can be said for most." The detective smiled as he recalled his father's sacrifice, it was painful to dredge up those memories but he always took comfort in knowing that his father died in the service and not some drunk on a street corner like some he'd known.

"Even still, I'm so sorry for your loss." Elizabeth offered her condolences, as her beautiful face depicted nothing but sorrow and grief at her savior's loss at such a young age. For some reason, Booker didn't like the though of her wearing such a morose look and endeavored to lighten things up.

"Hey, hey, this is supposed to be a fun experience for you. If you're just gonna be sad, I'll not say another word." Booker falsely huffed and crossed his arms, casting a look into the fire, briefly darting back to observe Elizabeth's reaction.

"Oh I'm sorry, Mister DeWitt…it's just, I can't imagine that sort of loss…" She trailed off and looked into the fire herself.

"Well I've had twenty-three years to make my peace with the fact, so truly I'm okay…how about you, you got a middle name? Parents?" Booker asked, attempting to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. But the girl shook her head with sadness.

"All I know is that my name is Elizabeth…and well…that's really it about me…I don't remember my parents or anything, I've been stuck in that tower for as long as I can possibly remember." She recalled with a soft huff of sadness as Booker looked at her with wide eyes.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" Booker began but Elizabeth sat up with a smile, wiping a stray tear from her eyes with a contented sigh.

"No need to apologize, it's nothing you did, it's not like you stuffed me up in that tower for some nefarious purpose." Elizabeth attempted to hide the hurt behind the laughter, an effort that was not lost on the detective.

"Listen, Elizabeth, if you want to look for them, your parents, after all this, I'd um…I'd be more than happy to help." Booker offered rather awkwardly, unsure as to how she would take the offer. Elizabeth merely shot the detective a mixed look of shock and appreciation.

"You-you would do that for me?" She asked, surprised by the gentleman's offer.

"Sure, I mean, why not? Everyone's got some kinda family somewhere, and if they're anything like you, I'm sure they've been looking high and low for you…probably to no avail considering you're thousands of feet above their heads." Booker finished lightly as Elizabeth chuckled at the thought.

"Yeah I guess you're right, thank you." She said as new tears threatened to spill her cheeks out of sheer joy and appreciation for this man that God had brought into her life.

"Don't go thankin' me just yet, we still gotta get outta here, and we'd still have to find them after that." Booker held his hands up as Elizabeth acknowledged and once more cleared her eyelids of any errant tears.

"Even so, thank you Mister DeWitt."

"Of course, I always look out for my friends." Booker declared as he looked once more into the fire with a surefire gaze of grit. Elizabeth reflected upon his words and mulled them around, one good thing that came out of this conversation was that she had confirmation that the detective thought of her as a friend; but the question remained if there was room for more. Such thoughts would have to remain in the unknown as Elizabeth came to the conclusion that pressing her savior further might cause him to clam up all together as was his probably type from her estimation. So instead the young woman elected to pursue a different, but still nagging, line of questioning on her mind.

"Hey Booker, can I ask you something else?" Elizabeth's soft voice and use of his first name cut straight to the detective's core, instantly recapturing his complete and undivided attention as he turned to face the girl.

"Of course." He replied softly.

"Who hired you to come and get me?" Elizabeth asked innocently enough and Booker's eyes nearly shot out of his skull as he swiveled his head back to the fire. He began to lightly perspire as the pressure of the question had begun to eat away at his soul.

'_Shit, of all the damn questions she could ask, she had to pick that one. All right, DeWitt, play it cool, let's see if we can't deflect._

"What makes you think I was hired to come get you?" Booker offered a question in response to her own as Elizabeth chewed on it for a moment before offering her own retort.

"Based on my working knowledge of the Pinkerton's, you detective's aren't free agents. You are hired out by third parties or assigned internally, though usually at the request of a third-party. Unless I am mistaken, of course."

'_Well that went well, genius! Got any other bright ideas!'_

"No you're not exactly wrong, in fact I accepted this job after enduring a long manhunt for…a…. you're not gonna let this go are you?" Booker asked and Elizabeth shrugged, a look of hurt washing over her face forcing Booker to give a dry swallow of regret.

"Well Mister DeWitt, if you don't want to answer…"

"Wait, Elizabeth, it's not that it's just." Booker stopped and once more entered into combat between the two most powerful forces known to man, fear and morality. One the one hand that woman in New York made it very clear that she had extremely far reach and wouldn't stop to get what she wanted and punish those who crossed her. On the other hand, those strange Lutece's seemed to have some sort of understanding, had been helpful, and seemed to have a solution to both that lady and his _other _problem. Still he was terrified, not for his own safety, but for the safety of some that he still held pretty dear; still he had managed to make necessary arrangements, but even then she proved to have knowledge of those goings on as well.

"…just what, Mister DeWitt?" Elizabeth leaned in once more, eagerly awaiting the next words out of Booker DeWitt's mouth. It was at that moment, oddly enough, that the detective thought back to his father. From as far back as he remembered, he had been taught to be an honest man, to be true to his word and that such a thing was vital to being an honest man. But even more importantly, his father had instilled in him the strong belief to do right thing, at any personal cost for in the end each one would have to give account before that great judgement seat. Before meeting her, Booker would have probably stuck true to the original deal and handed her over no questions asked. But after meeting her, getting to somewhat know her, it didn't sit right with him to just throw her to the wolves and walk away like it was nothing, like _she _was nothing.

"Well, it's complicated…" Booker paused once more and ran a hand through his hair before beinning again. "To make a long and complicated story short, there are these two _strange _folks, Robert and Rosalind, and they seem to have taken quite an interest in you." He had made his decision and by God he would stand by it, no matter what the consequences lay in store for his wretched soul.

"_Me? _Why me?" Elizabeth asked rather stunned at this revelation.

"No doubt for those locking picking skills of yours." He answered sarcastically, earning a slightly amused grin from the girl.

"No doubt." She quipped back with a hearty chuckle and began again. "But in all seriousness, what would they want with me?" Elizabeth asked, desperately wondering what these two strangers wanted with someone like her. Certainly she had never met either one, but their names did ring a feint bell somewhere.

"I haven't the foggiest, said they wanted to answer some of your questions and have you answer some of theirs…all they asked was that I get you out of that tower, get you out of Columbia, and bring you to an address in New York City. After that…well, that's up to you." Booker answered honestly and with a heavy sigh of relief. It felt good to get that off his chest, he wasn't much for secret keeping and when he did, it certainly wasn't at the expense of sweet folk like Elizabeth.

"Intriguing, very intriguing…" Elizabeth muttered to herself before straightening up and shot Booker a thousand watt smile and continued. "Well, whatever the case may be, and for whatever it's worth, I am really glad you came into my life Booker James DeWitt."

"Thanks Elizabeh..uhh…" Booker attempted to respond in kind but found his words fail him as the necessary information was, at present, unavailable. Elizabeth laughed softly and rose from her seat with a yawn.

"Just Elizabeth will do for now." She beamed back and and looked out the window and noticed the pitch blackness outside and yawned. "My word it's late, I believe I shall retire for the evening." She walked over to Booker and urged him to stand up, launching into a full blown hug the moment he stood up, catching the detective off guard. Elizabeth elaborated before he could even ask.

"Thank you, Booker. I thought I would be doomed to an eternal existence in that tower. It's because of you, I have a chance to live a real life." She looked up at him and smiled as he looked down and nodded as she stepped away, not noticing the blush forming on Booker's cheeks due in part to her exhaustion and the shadows of the room.

"Mister DeWitt, one more thing, if you're up for it?" Elizabeth asked as Booker sat down and swiveled his head to face her at the doorway.

"Of course, Elizabeth. What's on your mind?" He asked curious as to what more she had to ask, as he too began to feel the telltale signs of exhaustion overcoming him.

"Do you ever get the feeling that…" Elizabeth stopped and shook her head with a shy smile. "Nevermind, it's a silly notion."

"Come on now, you can't leave it at that! What is it?" Booker asked, his interest piqued.

"I know it sounds rather foolish, but, do you get the feeling that we've met before." Elizabeth turned away from the detective whose jaw dropped in surprise, the drawings in the room were one thing but he began to chalk that up to his imagination. Elizabeth took his silence for disbelief and quickly made to leave the room.

"I'm sorry, as I said, it's a silly notion. Have a good night, Mister DeWitt."

"Yes." His deep voice resounded through the room, catching the young woman by surprise.

"I'm sorry, Mister DeWitt?"

"The answer to your question, is yes, I've gotten the feeling we've met before too, don't see how though." Booker offered as honestly as he could, he didn't know how comfortable he was telling a woman that he just met that he'd been dreaming of her for close to half a year.

"I see. I must confess, I don't see how either but it's an intriguing prospect nonetheless. Well more on that later I suppose, for now I bid you a good night." The young woman tilted her head and retreated into the bedroom and slid beneath the covers of the blanket. Booker stood the close the door to the main bedroom when a soft plea stopped him in his footsteps.

"Could you, that is, leave the door open? Please?"

"Um, sure, I just thought you'd be more comfortable if…"

"No, no, I don't mind at all, in fact I would prefer if you left it open. It would do better for my nerves." She brought the blankets up to her chin and gave him a look that could only be described as extremely similar to the look a puppy gave its master.

"Alright, alright, whatever floats your boat, or city, in this case." Booker stumbled through his words and Elizabeth giggled at his attitude.

"Thank you, Mister DeWitt. Good Night!" Elizabeth called out as she laid back into the pillows and yawned once more, closing her eyes and allowing for sleep to overcome her.

"Good night, Elizabeth." Booker called back, softer so as not to disturb her and unceremoniously plopped down on the couch like a sack of potatoes. Stifling his own yawn, the detective turned on his side and pulled the Hand Cannon from the rig on the center table and placed it underneath his pillow, in the worst-case scenario. Soon enough, Detective DeWitt was fast asleep.

* * *

_Early That Following Morning_

* * *

Booker awoke from a fitful sleep and peered out the window to see that the sun had not yet arisen to bathe the flying city in its warm glow. Perfect for an idea dash to the Hall of Heroes, he thought as he returned to the couch and replaced the Hand Cannon back in its holster, realizing that his and Elizabeth's clothes were being laundered just before turning in for the night. He opened the front door and found a small bin with their freshly laundered clothes neatly folded up one on top of the other. Curiously though, a small brown envelop sealed in red wax sat atop the garments. Booker bent over and snatched it up along with the bin and returned inside, separating his clothes from hers, opting to open the letter in the process.

_Excellent choice, Mister DeWitt._

_One you won't regret, we assure you._

_We'll be seeing you soon._

_R & R _

"How in the hell..." He began to mutter but sighed and rubbed his forehead in anguish. "...doesn't matter, more time to think about that later." He quickly changed back into the outfit he'd picked up the other day, gathering up his affects from the table, and slowly walked over and into the bedroom, careful not to startle the sleeping girl too suddenly. The former soldier gave three soft knocks upon the wooden frame.

"Elizabeth, hey, Elizabeth…rise and shine, we need to get movin'." He beckoned but the sound of a light snore was her only reply. He frowned and approached her at her bedside, heightening the volume of his voice somewhat. "Elizabeth, wake-up, we gotta get going if we're gonna get out of here. Elizabeth!"

"Woah, what, who…I'm awake…I'm awake…" Elizabeth darted up in a panic as she desperately looked about the dim room before the memories of yesterday flooded in and brought her back to reality.

"Mornin', here, they washed everything up for us. Get dressed and I'll meet you outside." He set the clothes down and stepped back through the area and exited the hotel room, checking each of his weapons to make sure they were loaded and ready for the day. A short while later, Elizabeth stumbled through the frame with a loud yawn and the two proceeded down the elevator and through the main lobby. Booker made to bee-line through to the exit while Elizabeth opted to sign out via the guest registry, writing an artful note thanking them for their service. Booker, for his part, just huffed and puffed as he held the door open waiting for the half awoken woman to pass through.

The fog from last night had yet to abate as the pair made their way across the dimly lit boardwalk, their ears filled by the sounds of far off breezes and airships moving too and from different sections of the city. Going completely from memory, the detective made his way back to the path to the Hall of Heroes, only this time there were police barriers present that hadn't been prior. Booker paid no mind and guided Elizabeth up who had now fully awoken with newfound energy.

"Huh. 'Says here that the Hall of Heroes is closed until further notice." She read from a large official Columbian notice plastered across an advert for the location.

"Guess that makes our jobs easier." He quipped as he pushed a button to summon the elevator and leaned up against the frame with his arms crossed

"I don't see how." Elizabeth quipped back as she came to stand nearby.

"Simple, there won't be a line to get in." He shot her a grin as the elevator arrived and she rolled her eyes with a smile as she followed him inside. He pressed the button and the elevator came to a rolling start, right up until it didn't as the whole car came to a rather abrupt halt, cause Elizabeth to stumble back toward the wall and Booker to call out in surprise. The lighting of the elevator had nearly gone dark, with the only exception being a dim glow from a marquee advertising for people to praise this 'songbird', claiming he was the protector the lamb, whatever that meant.

"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asked as she chewed her bottom lip nervously.

"Ahhhh, it's nothin' I can't fix, just give me a second." Booker rubbed his chin in thought as he turned around and opened the fuse box in the rear corner of the elevator.

"Gotta get us movin' again." He muttered as he forcefully removed the metal cover and revealed four tiny fuses, instantly he spotted the problem, the top right fuse had blown. Fortunately there were a few extras placed here for just such an occasion. Perfect.

"Agh!" Elizabeth sharply gasped as a sudden buzzing and whirl movement hovered just in front of her face. "Oh! It's a bee. I-I hate these things." Booker merely shrugged as he removed the faulty fuse, discarding it without a car and made for a brand new one.

"Ah geeze, just kill it!" Booker concluded, hoping to end the conversation right then.

"No, it'll just sting me!" She responded back defiantly.

"Elizabeth!" Booker retorted, growing aggravated at her unwillingness to handle the situation.

"I have a better idea." He heard her say, more to herself than anything, and heard her begun to grunt with effort as he replaced the new fuse back into its housing and engaged the circuit once more. Booker closed the small door to the compartment and turned to watch Elizabeth demonstrate the same action as she had the previous day, which alarmed the detective greatly.

"W-What are you doing?" He asked fearfully as the girl struggled but looked as though she had found something to grip.

"Opening. !" She struggled and drew open whatever force she had latched onto and in a blinding flash of light, a window into somewhere else was cast open. _Whoa, shit, _was the first thought to enter the detective's mind as he watched as the far wall of the elevator transformed into that of a house, with a rose patterned wall paper, a photograph of some well-to-do family on a small table, and a small rose-garden hanging off the balcony of a window. Something about that garden was very familiar, though the detective couldn't rightly place it, then again he had no idea what was happening.

"What…what is that!" Booker asked alarmed, he'd tried not sound as frantic as he felt but failed miserably.

"It's a tear!" Elizabeth turned around and exclaimed nearly breathless from her previous exertions. "I used to open them all the time in my tower."

"What's a tear?!" Booker asked a little more calmly than before as he took a few steps forward and approached both Elizabeth and the strange phenomenon before their eyes.

"It's, hm, how can I explain. It's like a window…" She began.

"A window?"

"Precisely, only, these windows peer into another world. Most of the time they're dull as dishwater, a different colored towel here, or a cup of tea instead of coffee. But sometimes…" Elizabeth paused and stepped within the light barrier of this 'window' and approached the rose garden. "Sometimes, I see something amazing and…I…pull it through." She plucked a rose from the bed with a grin and placed it behind her ear.

"Good God Almight." Booker exclaimed, this was unbelievable, but the ever stalwart detective couldn't help what he asked next. "I ah don't suppose you have an airship in there, do you?"

"I don't think so," She chuckled and then looked back outside distractedly and began look around, as if she was purposefully trying to find something. "But there is…huh, there is something I..Oh no!" She exclaimed, suddenly growing very frantic at whatever she saw. Booker seized her by the wrist and pulled her back through once more. The object of her fear soon became apparent, a large winged creature flew through the clouds, shining a bright yellow light throughout as he screeched.

"Elizabeth, you need to close this thing, now." Booker suggested calmly, covering his fear as he made to draw his weapon.

"I-I'm trying" The frightened girl grabbed hold of that same invisible force and began to tug with all of her strength.

"Elizabeth, watch out!" He shouted as the shadowy figure flew at them, it was difficult to make it out but it looked strikingly similar to the creature that attacked them at the top of her tower, but there was something different, something more primal and ferocious. Fortunately for them both, Elizabeth managed to close the portal before the creature could approach and tumbled back into the ready arms of the detective as she rolled her head back into his chest, her nose dripping blood.

"Oh God, Elizabeth, are you alright?" He exclaimed, as he kneeled down and slowly lowered them both to allow her to rest after such an ordeal. The elevator began to move once more.

"Elizabeth, hey, stay with me." Booker encouraged as the girls lids grew heavy and slowly closed. They began to open once more before the detective could call and she began to explain.

"I'm sorry to worry you, this happens when I keep the portals open for any prolonged length…don't…know why…but I'll be okay." She assured as she pulled a white cloth from one of the pockets in her skirt, the detective had no idea when she'd acquired the garment but he wasn't about to poke about now.

"Well, I don't know what all that was about back there…but we should be careful, they seem dangerous, to say the least." He mused carefully as he helped her stand to her full height.

"I-I think they could help us, I could help…" Elizabeth started but was interrupted by the ringing bell, which signified their arrival.

"We'll see, but for now let's try to steer clear if we can." Booker rested a hand on her shoulder and the girl nodded.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" He asked in a much gentler tone and she nodded softly and they both exited the elevator and began to explore the new area. The architecture was the same Georgian design that could be found all throughout the greater D.C area. There were a few display cases demonstrating the same robotic founder look that he had seen at the fairgrounds the other day, spouting patriotic rhetoric as mechanic gears turned and ground against each other. There wasn't much to the room and the two made their way around either side and came to rest at the end where the detective spotted a pile of crates marked with large red ink over the label, _**CAUTION: DO NOT DISTRIBUTE! RETURN TO SENDER IMMEDIATELY. **_The veteran reached inside and grabbed a golden bottle, with the emblem of a horse in the middle; the lid appeared to be a cowboy breaking in a stallion.

"Mister DeWitt, what's that you're holding?" The girl asked as she stood to his right, peering over his shoulder.

"It's one of these, uh, vigors. Don't have 'em stateside, but the one's I have so far pack quite a wallop." He replied honestly, and in truth he knew they were vigors but beyond that they were a complete mystery. For all he knew they were giving him some strange illness, but they seemed to be very helpful he thought as he uncorked the lid.

"I see, and you're going to just drink it?" She questioned his intentions with sincere worry for his health. Beyond the label on the box, _Bucking Bronco,_ she wasn't quite certain what to make of the contents.

"Ain't got nothin' better to do with it." Booker stated as he reached to bring the rim of the bottle to his lips, but stopped short. "Oh and uh, be advised, they have some pretty strange affects at first, so umm don't be alarmed." He tried to assuage the girls' concenrs but she only shot him a look of disbelief as he downed the contents of the bottle.

A bitter and powerful taste pervaded his pallet as he fought the foul liquid down to his gullet with a powerful series of coughs. The effects took hold instantly as a sudden burst of energy flew from his hand, shooting the bottle into the wall and causing the girl to gasp in freight as tears in his flesh soon spread up though his palms and across his forearms. A violent golden glow and vibration emanated from his hands as the sound of a wild and untamed bronco resounded in his ears and a loud boom of thunder followed as light exploded in his eyes and the detective fell to his knees, his fists clenched tightly and his jaw clenched.

"Oh my God, Mister DeWitt, are you okay?" Elizabeth flew to the struggling detective's aid as he struggled to comprehend the surge of power that flowed through his veins.

"I-I think I'll be okay, that one…" Booker stopped and blew a deep breath and shook his head. "That one knocked me off my feet." Began to stand, assisted by Elizabeth who gripped his arm in worry.

"Perhaps, it would be best to let me _examine _these vigors before you decided to drink their contents whole. We don't want my tears killing us, but we also don't want these vigors bringing you to an untimely end." Elizabeth surmised resolutely, the look in her eye told the man she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Alright, alright, sounds like a deal to me." Booker surrendered, completely agreeable to her terms, to which she smiled once more and thanked him. The pair carried on and turned a corner, but at the sounds of activity, the soldier hid the girl behind him and drew his mauser, content to listen to what was happening.

"…AND when we _strike, _we will teach that crazed Cornelius Slae a lesson!"

'_Cornelius Slate, it can't be. I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but still after all these years.' _He thought to himself as he began to listen once more.

"I know you've all come to think of Colonel Slate as some kind of war hero. Let me be CLEAR…CORNELIUS SLATE IS NO HERO! He's been _living _down in _Finkton _so long that the man has gone native" He chuckled and continued. "Hell, if Slate had his way then the damn coloreds and potato eaters would be up in Comstock House runnin' Columbia, or in your homes…or even copulatin' with your wives!" There were a few murmurs of dissent among the soldiers that could be heard. Booker felt this could get unruly rather quickly and turned toward Elizabeth who looked up at the detective with concern.

"_Stay here, I'm going out there, I'll come back when I'm done." _He mouthed and she nodded as he slipped around the corner and crept closer to stand in a crouched position behind a few wooden crates.

"Now then, Slate's got himself all holed up in the Hall of Heroes – and its our job to get him out, Alive or Dead!" Booker could now see the speaker, who delivered with his speech with pure venom. "Once our gunships arrive, we're gonna storm the Hall! Clear 'em out! And have you all home for breakfast!" The troops gave a resounding, _hoorah, _in response and Booker took this opportunity.

"Alright, fellas. What's goin' on here? What did old slate do to you?" Booker asked, his weapon drawn and ready.

"Shit, it's one of his supporters, men open fire!" Their commander exclaimed as he dove from the stage as the men readied their carbines and prepared to open fire. Booker thrust his free hand out toward the group and an explosion of power rippled through his arm and shot out toward the men, distorting the air leading up to them and then exploding with a powerful force sending them all into the walls and floor of the surrounding area, the faint sound of a wild horse flooded Booker's ears once more.

"Well, that was something." He thought to himself just before narrowly avoiding a shot from the rooftops as he rand forward and took cover behind another stack of crates. He leaned out just briefly and a few shots rang out, barely missing him in the process. Booker ducked out and fired a few shots from his pistol up at the rooftop balcony, which resulted in the soldier backing away to take cover.

Booker took this opportunity to rush the Ticket Building in hopes of making it to the rooftop. He took maybe three steps before two soldiers at the top of the stairs, opened fire with their machine guns. Booker summoned the powerful _Bucking Bronco _and aimed it up the stairs, this time the two soldiers merely floated in mid air, completely immobilized by the power of the vigor. Booker fired several shots into both forms until they fell to the ground lifeless. The former soldier stormed the stairs and soon found himself on the balcony of the second floor, at first there appeared to be no sign of the soldier but the sounds of footsteps around the corner perked the detectives ear and he turned just in time to take cover back inside as the soldier opened fire upon his position.

"Give it up, buddy! The rest of your friends are gone, you wanna end up like them too!" Booker pled as he took the opportunity to reload his pistol, praying to God the kid would listen. At first there was nothing, then the sound of metal striking flesh and a ghastly shriek rang out. The former soldier stepped out of cover to watch a black hooded figure carrying a coffin on his back running the poor bastard through with a sword, withdrawing it and kicking the dying soul over the ledge at the sight of the False Shepard.

"Ah shit, not one of you guys again!" Booker wined as he shot his arm forward and leveled another powerful wave of _Bucking Bronco _at the hooded figure, who transformed into a murder of crows just in time to avoid the force of the new vigor. Booker looked about and spotted a freight hook and withdrew his Skyhook and took flight for the metallic outcropping before launching himself back toward the ground. He holstered his mouser and picked up a shotgun from one of the fallen solider's and readied himself. A flurry of black motion emerged from the building the hooded figure appeared once more from the smoke.

"Alright you bastard, come and get it!" Booker yelled as he cocked the weapon, the man quickly dove for the detective who fired a multi-pellet blast from his weapon, causing the man to stumble back. Booker cocked the instrument once more and fired another round into the figure who exploded into a murder of crows once more and flew through the detective only to emerge behind him. The acolyte attempted to bring his sword down upon the assumedly unsuspecting detective's head but DeWitt was smarter than that and whirled around to bring his shotgun up to take the brunt of blow. Having caught the man by surprise, the detective gripped the weapon fiercely and delivered a powerful kick to the abdomen of the inhuman foe, causing him to go flying into the wooden railing behind him.

"Enough screwing around, time to send you back to hell where you belong!" Booker leveled as he steadied his Hand Cannon and fired two rounds into the freak's abdomen, causing him to sputter blood from behind the hood. He attempted to draw a pistol, but Booker had already taken aim for the man's head and with the simple pull of a trigger, he painted the wooden backdrop with the hooded figures remains.

"Elizabeth, you can come on out now, it's over!" He called out with shaky breath, as his adrenalin ran high from his encounter with another one of those hooded men. He wasn't thrilled about them the first time and, while this one appeared to be a bit dimmer, he still wasn't about to get sloppy.

"You know, on second thought, perhaps those tears might come in handy the next time we're in a scrape! Booker shouted once more as he reloaded his Hand Cannon and stuffed it back into his rig.

"Well there has to be a tear around for me to use! I can't just pull one out of thin air!" She responded, both giving Booker some new information and confirming she had heard his initial calls.

"Is that so?" He said with a curiosity-laced tone, as he leaned down to examine one of the carbines propped up against the commander's table.

"Well, yes, at least…I think so, I've not exactly tried to make one, not in a while." He heard her mutter more to herself than anyone else as he examined the fine craftsmanship of the rifles. They appeared to operate in the same fashion as the ones he used back in the marines, but they were of a make and model the likes of which he hadn't seen before; another oddity of Columbia, no doubt.

"Who's that?" Came a soft voice as Booker stood and slung the rifle around his back. He rounded the table and came to stand behind Elizabeth, looking over the photographs and documentations strewn about.

"Oh, yeah, Slate? I actually know the fellow. He and I go _way _back. Seems he's still his charming old self." Booker mused as he scanned the images. The man he'd known for years had finally begun showing his age if these photographs were anything to go off, though if what these soldiers said was true then the old goat had no signs of slowing down any time soon. "Come on, let's get out of here."

The pair made their way up to the toward the _Gondola Access _to the Hall of Heros booth, but they found that all of the surrounding gates were locked up tight and wrapped up to the brim with chains. They returned to the main booth and Elizabeth began looking about the various controls.

"Hm, they've shut down gondola access to the Hall of Heroes. Must be because of what's going on with your friend, Slate." She surmised as she spied a stray Skyhook sitting amongst a workman's tools. Booker reached out and took hold of a lever marked _Gondola Access _and gave it a good yank, which resulted in a hustle of activity and all at once the crates blocking their way began to move.

"Looks like we'll have to take the rail from here." Booker concluded as he retrieved his Skyhook and revved the machine up. He heard a similar sound from his left and he turned to see an excited Elizabeth holding a Skyhook of her own.

"This is going to be fantastic!" She exclaimed with delight as Booker just smiled at her enthusiasm.

'_They sure don't make 'em like her where I come from' _He thought as the last of the crates cleared the way.

"After you, Mister DeWitt."

* * *

**Endnote: So this chapter ended up taking a much different turn than I originally anticipated but I'm hoping to that you all enjoyed it nonetheless, it has a little bit of everything and I do hope that it quenches at least some sort of appetite.**

**On a quick note, I do hope that you all had a Happy Veteran's Day here in the United States and for the rest of you, I hope you enjoyed your Monday! **

**Up next, our heroes enter the Hall of Heroes where they confront Cornelius Slate and the some of the demons from Booker's Past. Until next time, this is TheLifeLongEditor signing off. **


	12. Chapter 12: We Are A Band Of Brothers

**Chapter 12: We Are A Band Of Brothers**

**Author's Note: So I'm actually glad that this chapter is out on time as I wasn't for certain as to whether I could do it with the material I'm trying to cover but I'm hopeful this is well worth the wait.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite or any of the characters therein; I am simply using them for my own fun!**

* * *

The deafening roar of the wind paled in comparison to the elicitations of excitement and joy exploding from the detective's delightful companion as they screamed across the Skyrails, almost as if she were riding an amusement park rollercoaster ride and not sailing over thousands of feet of air separating them from the ground below. Booker found himself smiling at her jubilations, he found he smiled more often than not around this woman, she seemed to have that affect on him, just like a certain other female from so long rails twisted and turned around several large bronze statues of saluting soldiers who appeared to stand guard around the Hall of Heroes as the metallic path twisted in an upward spiral around the super structure. As Booker and Elizabeth approached the arrival center for all incoming carriages, the carnage of battle soon became apparent as the unmistakable sound of gunfire mixed with inhuman wails filled the still morning air. Booker launched downward from the rail first and motioned for Elizabeth to follow, the young woman making a far more lady-like and calm descent in the process.

"Stay low and stay quiet. We need to get a handle on what's happening up ahead." Booker urged as he crouched low and proceeded forward with caution. Elizabeth dry swallowed and crept low behind her escort, deferring to his wisdom and expertise in such matters, opting to rest her Skyhook on a nearby crate for future use. As the two slowly made their way forward, the cause for alarm became apparent as a small ragtag group was all that remained of a larger contingent of men sent forth to fight what could only be described as a mechanical nightmare, a walking hulking behemoth.

"Great, just great, looks like it's that thing from the tower." Booker chided as he reached around and retrieved his newly found Carbine and pulled the cocking handle on the side, loading the weapon and preparing for combat. The detective slowly ducked out of cover to view the ensuing carnage as the beast tore through the remaining men, grabbing hold of one and tossing him into another of his brethren before leaping with incredibly speed onto a soldier who had elected to open fire with his machine gun, a gruesome fate befell that poor soul. One of the men stumbled to get up but was quickly crushed by a wooden bench tossed directly at him by the winged machination. The last of the group attempted to run back into the Hall of Heroes but was swooped up in the hands of the mothman as it took flight threw the screaming man off the side of Columbia to meet a terrifying fate below before landing at the base of the stairs.

"Alright, Elizabeth, I need you to stay here. If that things catches sight of you, there's no telling what might happen." Booker grimly declared as he took a breath to steel his nerves.

"But my tears. I could I help?" Elizabeth implored, not caring for the prospect of watching the detective go toe-to-toe with this voracious beast.

"We don't know if there are any around and I don't think we have the time or liberty to go lookin'." He declared firmly and noticed the defiant look about the young woman and rolled his eyes. "Look, we'll cross that bridge later, but for now stay down and out of sight, got it?" Booker pressed hard and Elizabeth frowned and nodded.

"Great, wish me luck." Booker asked as he stepped out of cover and circled around the creature, taking aim as he did so, not hearing the girl's soft wish in response. He ran about the deck as quietly as possible to get into position and took aim.

"Hey, bird brain! Come and get it!" He shouted and opened fire upon the now lumbering beast as it raised an arm and its bullet riddled wing to shield itself from the veteran's onslaught. Booker continued firing at various different spots about the creature hoping for a weakspot, until the clip ran empty forcing him to stop his assault and reload. This gave the creature time to rally and spring into attack mode as the lights on its head grew a blood red. The hulking behemoth gave almost whale-like groan as it charged forward, wings flapping angrily and ground shaking with every step it took.

"Oh shit!" Was all the detective could muster as he barely managed to reload and roll away, dodging the creature's charge, an action that the beast did not take kindly as it swung its arms wildly in frustration. Booker emptied another clip into the thing's frame as it once more raised its arms to provide cover, giving it pause to slow, but the veteran wasn't certain if any of his actions were having an effect. Booker retrieved another clip from his belt and loaded it into the rifle as the beast extended its wings and pointed at the detective.

"What the?" Were the only words that Booker could utter before the beast gave a powerful flap of its wings and rushed the distracted detective. The beast planted solid kick to Booker's chest, knocking the wind out of the former soldier as well as knocking him clear off his feet and onto the wooden floor with a loud thud. The detective groaned in pain as he attempted to stand but was quickly halted by the beast landing directly above him, poised to deliver a deadly blow to end this interplay.

"Oh no you don't! STOP!" Booker shouted as he summoned the familiar green Mesmerize vigor and directed the green energy directly into the face, or what would have been the face, of the creature. A flash of green, yellow, and red filtered through the beast's head as it stumbled back, its arms clutching its head as its wings flapped wildly as it struggled to control itself against the allure of the powerful vigor.

"Booker! AMMO!" He heard from his right and turned to face the speaker and, on reflect, reached out catch two additional clips in mid flight, and gave a brief nod in her direction as he reloaded the Carbine once more.

"Thank you, Kindly!" He shouted as he fired yet another clip into the beasts body. As he scanned the creatures body he noted evidence of intense scarring and the telltale pitting of heavy gunfire across its entire form, noticeably across its metallic torso as one of the windows appeared to have shattered "No wonder it's being so aggressive, bastard's probably on its last leg." He thought to himself as he mustered the Bucking Bronco and fired another full clip into the distressed beast as it continued to wage war against the powerfully persuasive vigor. The intense pain of gunfire seemed to help it ward off the effects of the vigor as it flapped its wings once again and elected to charge the detective who happened to be ready for this particular reaction.

"I don't think so!" He shouted and thrust his arm forward and all at once the power of the Bucking Bronco shot forth and collided with the rampaging monster, blowing it clear off its feet and suspending it in mid air. The creature wrathfully attempted to escape this snare but the power of the vigor was unlike any natural force it had encountered and the detective had hedged his bets on that fact as he came closer and fired into the creatures weakened torso. It screamed and wailed in agony as the metal and leather gave way to the hail of gunfire. The winged machination dropped to the ground with a painful grunt and attempted to stand once more as it propped itself up on a knee. Booker seized this moment of weakness and chucked a fireball of Devil's Kiss engulfing the monster in flames as it thrashed and screamed, colliding inadvertently into a nearby statue of a soldier, completely demolishing the stone edifice and collapsing to the ground with one final wail as a set of micro-explosions wracked its strange form.

Booker approached the corpse of the creature with caution and fired a cautionary round into its back to test for any deception, fortunately it appeared that whatever kept this thing ticking had given up the ghost as the creature laid in a pile of rubble, burning with an unnatural flame. At this point the adrenaline that had been rushing through Booker's veins had vanished and all at once the detective realized he had been holding his breath and took the momentary calm to collect himself.

"Wow, that was quite impressive Mister DeWitt!" Elizabeth cheered as she stepped out of cover to approach the victorious veteran.

"Not really." He responded darkly as he looked about the scene at the death and destruction caused by this monstrosity as Elizabeth could only frown in confusion.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, you managed to take down the Mothman by yourself. That's quite an impressive feat, if I do say so myself." She assured as she came to stand next to veteran who knelt down and examined the helmet design of this 'Mothman'."

"Mothman huh?" Was this what you were afraid of back at the tower?" He asked as observed the subtle, and not so subtle, differences between this creation and the one he had staved off at the tower, namely how the helmet appeared to have multiple points of light dotting its front.

"N-No, not the Mothman." Elizabeth shuddered as she thought back upon her captor as Booker stood up and shrugged at this recent development.

"Whatever the case, this thing had already seen quite a bit of action before we got here. From the looks of things it took a few rocket-propelled grenades to the chest and kept on going. I was fortunate for these folk to put up the fight they did or we may still be fighting the thing." He concluded as he stepped over the remains of the beast and motioned for the girl to follow. As the blood stopped rushing to his ears, Booker picked up a familiar tune from his youth playing on the Hall's auditory system.

'We are a band of brothers and native to the soil, fighting for our liberty with treasure blood and toil." The soft tones and lyrics of music began as Booker instantly recognized the tune and arched his eyebrows.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked as she noted the detective's sudden change in demeanor.

"Nothing just, reminds of somethin' er someone, actually." Booker stated as he slowly ascended the white staircase leading to the entrance to the Hall of Heroes.

"Who would that be?" The young woman inquired further, not wishing to waste an opportunity to learn more about her tight-lipped hero.

"My Uncle actually, well, okay, so he wasn't exactly my uncle he was…" Booker stopped as he reached the top of the stairs and turned to Elizabeth, stroking his chin in thought and he shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"What?" She asked with a grin.

"Funny, until now I never realized that I never knew how my family knew the old man, we just called him Uncle. He helped take care of the place, he was much older than my mom and he just sorta showed up a little after the news about dad came." Booker clarified as he looked around at the advertisements for the various patriotic displays and other fine things to enjoy in the park.

"Really? I wonder why?" Elizabeth quipped as she bent over to retrieve a lantern left aside one of the pillars and approached the detective as he made his way to a set of wooden doors.

"Haven't the foggiest. He stayed with us up until the end though, taught us a lot growing up, and shared a lot of interesting stories around the fire, one of those tales included the singing of that particular anthem. Buuut less said about those the better." Booker finished with a nostalgic grin which Elizabeth shared, it wasn't often if ever that she saw the detective wistfully look back upon his past with fondness and she wasn't about ruin it for him. After a few moments of silence he slowly came back to reality and made grabbed the door handle.

"Ready to get us some shock jockey?" He asked with enthusiasm.

"Lead the way!" She responded in kind and they both entered the Hall of Heroes.

* * *

The room blanketed in nearly complete darkness, save for the dim lights of the Hall of Heroes banner over the far entryway. Elizabeth had illuminated the lantern she had picked up outside and took a few intrepid steps forward as Booker followed, straining his eyes to peer through the darkness. A soft gasp and a flash of light caught Booker's attention as he swiftly caught the frightened Elizabeth before she fell to the ground as the large Patriot sputtered to life, along with the rest of the lighting in the area.

"Too rare is the man who takes a stand, for God and Sweetest Fatherland! But here's the place where we revere, the heroes of our city dear!"

"Talk about your warm welcome." Booker muttered as Elizabeth once more stood up under her own strength and smoothed out her skirt.

"I'll say." She said distractedly as she looked about the still mostly dim room and observed the various portraits depicting the auspicious moments of the American Revolution as well as the city's three founding father's in particular. For Booker, it wasn't the flags or the visages that captured his interest but the bullet holes and bodies littering the area. To the seasoned soldier, it looked like the end result of a strategic push from an outside force desperately making an effort to breach the interior defenses only to be met with greater opposing force entrenched within.

"Slate, I hope you're not wrapped up in all this." Booker quietly prayed as he stood up to see Elizabeth off to the left pouring through some hastily scribbled notes on a desk, making every possible attempt to distract herself from the bloodshed about her.

"Elizabeth are you…" Booker began hesitantly.

"I-I'm fine, I'd rather not discuss it if at all possible. I'm fine really." She assured and stepped lively to position herself once more to the soldier's rear as he moved ahead and pushed open another set of decorated wooden double doors leading into a massive chamber, completely covered in darkness with a solitary statue commanding full attention in the center. Booker looked about the room, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and he suspected that they had just waltzed into a trap.

"Our Prophet Father Comstock. Commander of the 7th Calvary and Allied Strategic Commander of the Legation Guard." Elizabeth spoke softly as she held the lantern up to the base of the statue and read the engraving that lay within.

"That man did not lead the Seventh and I sure as hell didn't take orders from him in the Marines!" Booker spat with anger as Elizabeth whirled around to face the suddenly disturbed detective.

"Oh?" Was the cleverest response she could come up with at the time, silently kicking herself for her insensitivity to the issue but Booker didn't seem to take offense as he elaborated.

"No, my father served under Colonel James Forsyth, I met him at the funeral, shook my damn hand as a matter of fact." Booker spoke as he looked up at the monumental statue of the now-biggest fraud he'd ever seen.

"I-I had no idea, I mean I grew up reading…"

"**You grew up reading the lies put forth by that fork-tongued devil of a man, young lady!" **An old and grizzled voice boomed from the rafters causing both to gasp in surprise as Booker deftly retrieved his Hand Cannon and aimed about the ceiling, Elizabeth leaning keeping a rather close proximity to the former soldier.

"I'll be if that isn't…" Booker began but the voice continued once more.

"**Booker James DeWitt solidified himself a gallant hero as he braved the hostile territories of the orient and fought those treacherous Boxers!" **The grizzled voice announced from the rafters as a brilliant bright spotlight beamed down upon the former soldier and slowly followed his every move.

"Slate? Is that you?" Booker called out as he brought hand to his eyes to partially shield them from the source of light as he and Elizabeth scoured the room in an attempt to locate the source of the auditory communication.

"**You were always a different soldier, weren't you? You could have returned to civilian life after the Boxers. Done something different. But, like a raging fire, you stormed across the orient and further distinguished yourself in the Philippines and the Moro."**

"Booker what's he talking about?" Elizabeth looked between the detective who opted to ignore her call and addressed the old man directly.

"Slate I don't want any trouble…"

"**Sergeant Booker J. DeWitt ended his career an honorable soldier, never seeking fame or glory, no one ever asked why he stormed those shores with that grit and tenacity like a REAL soldier…" **The grizzled old man boomed over the speaker.

"Look, I see you're caught up in…uh…some sort of jam here, if you could see fit to let us through to where they keep this Shock Jockey, then we'll-"

"**That bastard of a tin soldier want me and my boys dead, but we won't be silenced by his hand!" **He launched into another tirade as Booker silently called over Elizabeth who carefully crept toward him and started to speak but was halted by Booker putting a finger to his lips to indicate silence.

"Shhh. Listen I suspect there's gonna be some trouble headin' our way. You best find some place to stay out of the fray." The veteran ordered as he retrieved his Carbine once more and checked both his Mauser and Hand Cannon to ensure they were loaded for any eventuality.

"**The way I see it, all my men and I have left is a singular choice: die at the hands of a tin soldier…or a real one." **He ended with a roar before the speakers cut out and the chamber flooded with the same familiar anthem from outside.

_"Then here's to our Confederacy, strong are we and brave, Like patriots of old we'll fight, our heritage to save; And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer, _

_So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!"_

The doors to Booker's left and right slammed open and a storm of gunfire rained down upon the surprised soldier and had it not been for that strange concoction that Robert and Rosalind had given him, he would have been long dead as a result. Fortunately the bullets struck the golden-yellow barrier with tremendous force as Booker regained his senses and sent a wave of Bucking Bronco at the group of armed soldier's to his left, temporarily knocking them out of the fight as they struggled to cope with their newfound weightlessness.

_"Hoorah, Hoorah, For southern rights, Hoorah!_

_Hoorah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star."_

With a quick turn to his right, he brought his Carbine to bear and opened fire upon the slack-jawed soldiers who, evidently, had not yet seen this vigor in action. Booker considered himself blessed and cursed all at once to have to fight these men under these conditions, they hadn't slighted him in any way yet here he was forced to take more lives. What was the purpose, why this unnecessary bloodshed? Had the baptism been for nothing?

"Come on, Men! Who wants to live forever?" Came a rousing cry from behind as a the men he had tossed in the air had made it back to the ground and had begun to rally.

"Stand down if you know what's good for you. There's no need for your blood to be spilt today." Booker implored as the men shook their heads and cocked their weapons.

"Better to die as men, than live like dogs!" The one in the center shouted and made to charge with a club as the others around him took aim. Booker wasted littled time and dispatched the small group of three with several well placed shots, the last of which put the charging man down dead in his tracks. The anthem, which had been playing in a loop on high volume returned to a dull tone as the air, soon became still. The former soldier looked over the bodies finding some to be no older than eighteen years.

"Damn it…GOD DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!" Booker shouted as he tossed an empty clip across the room in frustration.

"**YOU SEE!? YOU SEE!? You see, you're a killer, Booker! Like it or not!" **Slate proclaimed almost with a hint of pride in his voice as the former soldier held his rifle in one hand and looked up at the ceiling.

"Just-Just give us the Shock Jockey, Slate!" He pleaded with the man, but some where deep inside he knew the type of man Slate was and had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be as simple as that.

"**If you want the vigor, you**** will ****give my men a soldier's death! They wait for you in Wounded Knee…and in ****Peking****" **He ended with a sinister undertone as the former marine gripped his rifle in frustration and slung it around his back.

"What's he mean? Waiting for you in Wounded Knee and Peking?" A soft voice emerged from the darkness clutching the lantern as she approached Booker from her hiding spot.

"I don't…I don't know, I have a feeling we'll soon find out." He stopped and reloaded his rifle and approached the girl, holding her shoulders in his hands. "Are you alright, did you get hurt?"

"I'm fine Mister DeWitt, thank you." She replied, touched by his concern.

"Good..that's good…" He expressed slowly and gave far off stare as he turned around and made his way through the doors at the end of the room, with Elizabeth following in tow.

"I know you have that-erm-field of yours to help you with gun fire, but if you get seriously hurt I know enough to patch you up." Elizabeth offered.

"Thanks, yeah, I kinda forgot about it back there actually." Booker admitted as he scratched the back of his head. "I mean I only got the thing yesterday when those two knuckleheads got me to drinks that stuff. Though I guess that makes me the knucklehead in the end." The pair walked through the doorway to find the entrance to two exhibits that each rocked the former soldier to his core, reeling his mind with a deluge of memories he had desperately sealed away. To the left was an exhibit that appeared to mimic a specific time during the Boxer Rebellion and to the right was undoubtedly a depiction of the infamous Battle of Wounded Knee. To the center was a rounded pillar with a timeline of Columbia's most important events encircling the edifice. Booker sighed with a recollected shiver and made movement toward the snowy entrance.

"What's this?" Elizabeth asked in earnest as the pair made their way down the faux snowy path toward a highly ornate oriental gate complete with religious decoration.

"The Boxer Rebellion." He answered darkly, haunting memories of twisted and dark exploits intruded upon the sanctity of his normally ordered mind as the screams of women and children filled his ears. Booker clenched his eyes tight and desperately tried to will away the morbid memories of his past.

"Mister DeWitt?" Elizabeth asked somewhat frightened by the slow moving wooden cutouts that crept up from behind the false rocks as she approached the suddenly still man. He started to answer but Cornelius Slate beat him to the punch as his voice came over the speakers once more.

"**In Peking? It was Booker DeWitt who displayed his gallantry throughout the campaign! Burning out the enemy, brining those traitorous souls to justice! He bravely led a troop of men in protecting the city and would have succeeded…but that's not how Comstock tells it." **Slate elaborated for the young girl who looked over at the former soldier who kept his eyes shut throughout the whole of the man's dialogue, opening them when his ears perked up at Elizabeth's footsteps.

The pair approached the gates and watched as they slowly opened, Elizabeth took step forward but was scared out of her wits and nearly tripped over her own feet as a crude wooden cutout of a boxer swung forward. The veteran swiftly grabbed Elizabeth by her waist and drew his Hand Cannon, firing three rounds into the representation as his mind flashed to his time in the orient before he remembered where he currently stood.

"Thank you, Mister DeWitt, I'm sorry I wasn't expecting…" Elizabeth brought a hand to her chest to still her beating heart as she soon realized that Booker still clutched her waist protectively. "Mister DeWitt?"

"Huh?" He asked as he gave the bullet riddled facsimile a wide-eyed stair, waging an internal war between memory and reality before turning to see his charge looking up at him with a blush and all at once he realized what he had been doing and gently release her. "Oh, sorry about that, habit I guess."

"It's alright, you kept me from falling." She responded with kindness as she held the lantern up to illuminate both their faces. She noted the distressed look about her savior and chewed her bottom lip in concern. This did not go unnoticed by the veteran.

"You, uh, alright?" He asked as he reloaded and holstered his revolver.

"Yes, funnily enough, I was going to ask you the same?" She responded thoughtfully.

"Me, yeah, I'm fine, just uh, takes me back is all. Come on, we shouldn't stand around, no tellin' what Slate has in store for us." Booker deftly avoided her line of questioning as he proceeded ahead with a determined gate as Elizabeth stepped up to match his pace.

Whoever designed this place definitely knew how to build a disturbing atmosphere between the massive gong, the mysterious oriental sitting before the faux-fire and even up to the massive statue of a Boxer cleaving the head off some poor soul's body as his wife and child watched in horror, all illuminated by a skylight. Booker watched that and the voices in his head piped up once more.

_"Do it, private! They were harboring the enemy, helping them desecrate your fellow man! _

_"But sir!" _

_"I gave you an order! I expect you to follow it without question!"_

_"I'll do it!" _

_"Finally, a man worth his salt. Private you should stick by Corporal DeWitt here, he might teach you something about what means to be a soldier." _

Elizabeth came to a halt as she sudden,y realized that her companion no longer kept in step with her and turned to see the imposing man with his eyes clenched shut and his jaw wrought with tension, fists clenched. Delicately, the young woman approached the trembling veteran and slowly reached over to stroke his cheek. As her soft cool hand brushed his flush taught cheek, his eyes shot open and his breath stilled; a brilliant blue ocean collided with a cascading field of green as their eyes met.

"Are-Are you alright, Mister DeWitt. You can talk to me if something's bothering you." Elizabeth offered with a smile as she retracted her hand but the detective knew better than to take her up on that offer. She was a sweet, innocence, and naïve to the darkness that the world had to offer. He wasn't about to sully an innocent soul with his mistakes.

"Thanks, but I'm-I'm fine." Elizabeth could sense him shut down after a second of contemplation and resigned to following him over the raised bridge, only lifting her eyes from the path to observe the artistry and depiction of the massive hordes of Boxers charging an unseen allied front. The pair did not dally as they briskly followed the stone trail to a set of double doors, leading to a decorated antechamber decorated with various oriental flags and illustrations, a single Patriot stood on a pedestal in the center and activated as they approached.

_"'Twas yellow skin and slanted eyes that did betray us with their lies. Until they crossed the righteous path of our Prophet's holy wrath"_

Booker contemplated climbing upon the pedestal and dismantling the accursed machine gear by gear, but the desire to vacate the premises with the girl as quickly as possible overran that vengeful desire and so he contended him self to shoot the Patriot a glare before rounding the machination, readying his rifle as he gave Elizabeth a look that told her to prepare herself for the worse. He opened the doors and both were treated to a large chamber and inside an over-encompassing depiction of a last brave stand against insurmountable odds as hundreds upon hundreds of the Boxer Horde closed in, swords drawn at the ready, upon an image of a fallen Zachary Hale Comstock, complete with an American flag draped over him to illustrate the patriotic act.

"Oh I read about this!" Elizabeth exclaimed as she approached the statue and brought her lantern to her side. "Comstock led the Columbian Troops to Peking and-"

"**COMSTOCK WASN'T THERE! I led my troops through China to support our troops headed to Peking! The Boxer's routed us, took my eye, and thirty of my friends! Is there even a stone to mark that sacrifice! No. Now If it hadn't been for Booker DeWitt, I wouldn't have made it out alive! He rallied his troops after his commander had been killed and overcame the enemy! But no, Comstock couldn't stand to sit idly by as his men died but wouldn't dare dirty his own hand...so he instead waited and gave the order blast the city to kingdom come! Effectively ended the rebellion then and there. Called himself a hero…" **Slate boomed and the microphone grew silent. Slate's words shook Booker to his core, regenerating all sorts of old memories he had desperately tried to burry and leave behind for so many years. His breath hitched, his eyes grew wide, and soon the backdrop of the museum faded away and he now stood back in China, on that cold day he found Cornelius Slate.

)))(((

_Booker turned as his ear perked at the acute sound of an approaching noise and barely brought up his rifle in time to block the savage blow of a Boxer bringing his sword down in an attempt to bring a swift end to his comparatively short life. The soldier held his rifle and grit his teeth as the foreign soldier pressed down. With a surge of strength, Booker planted his foot on front armor plate of the foreign soldier and knocked him clean off. The soldier was stunned and Booker capitalized on the opportunity and fired several rounds into the bastard, ending his life. The soldier knew this was not the time to sit at ease, as there were still enemies nearby._

_A flash of activity out of the corner of his eye confirmed his suspicion and the soldier deftly turned and opened fire on another Boxer attempting to sneak up on him, he went down without much of a struggle. Soon enough a__nother emerged from behind the rocks and so too did he fall like his brethren. Booker emptied the clip and reloaded as more and more emerged and Booker began to slowly fall back as more of them came in an almost unyielding wave. They screamed and jeered in their native language, but the soldier didn't care as he would put every last one of them down if it were the last thing he ever did. _

_"DeWitt! We need to get out of here now! The Columbian's Contingent is finished!" he heard a distant voice cry out._

_"Negative, Chauncy! We stop these bastards here and now, they've taken too much already! This is our line! Men form a perimeter and don't stop until they do." He shouted as he fired more rounds into the oncoming hordes. A painful moan eminated from behind and he glanced to his rear and spotted a fallen soldier, he bled profusely from his face and several wounds to his torso but he looked like the man he had been sent to rendezvous. Booker put down two more soldiers and relocated to the man's position and knelt down to check for a pulse and further identify the fallen soldier. _

_"I'll be damned, Captain Slate?" Booker inquired as he recognized the man who had fought with his father all those years ago._

_"That's *cough* Colonel to you, sonny boy *cough cough*" He sputtered as he spat blood with his words. "You get a few years behind you *cough* and you suddenly think you're above it all, that it *cough*."_

_"Sit tight, Colonel. The Marines are here! This man needs attention, PALUMBO ON ME!" Booker called and heard a distant response confirming his order was being carried out. A few more of the enemy soldiers attempted to rush their position and Booker's swift and decisive action put them down before they could get within three feet of the pair. A few moments of stillness and Booker relaxed his guard to make his every attempt to tend to the injured man's wounds. Before Booker could take any drastic action the telltale sound of an approaching enemy pricked his ears and he readied his weapon to meet the challenge. Soon enough a large Boxer complete with a full set of heavy armor leapt down from a rocky outcropping and screamed at corporal._

_"Sit tight, Colonel! I'll deal with this one." Corporal DeWitt ordered as he stood up and opened fire upon the armored foe. He managed to get a few rounds off before the rifle jammed up. He hadn't the time to clear the chamber as the Boxer, as unbelievable as it was, brought an armored hand to its helmet and breathed a wave of fire at the soldier. Booker dropped his rifle and rolled behind a rock, drawing his sidearm._

_"Eat led you bastard!" He shouted as he opened fire upon the heavily armored foreign soldier. The bullets impacted the material and the soldier stumbled back as the impact of the halted his advance. Booker discarded the empty clip and reloaded his pistol and emerged from cover to open fire once more, only to nearly have his face burnt off in the process._

_"Okay, okay, DeWitt, think-think-think-think…" He chided as he looked around and spotted a sword from a fallen Boxer nearby. He knew if he could get that and get close enough, he might be able to stab the Boxer in a weak spot. The soldier cocked his pistol and took a breath before darting out of cover and laying down suppressive fire upon his assailant._

_Narrowly avoiding a wall of flame, the soldier managed to secure the weapon and duck back behind another rock. He took another breath and rushed the armored foe with an animalistic scream as he fired his pistol blindly at his foe; the Boxer didn't' know how to respond and found his movements hampered by his armor as some of the bullets managed to penetrate and draw blood. Booker sprung into action and leapt on the dazed and disoriented enemy soldier and brought him to the ground and the sound of the sputtering coughs of his foe filled his ears._

_"Burn in hell you son of a bitch!" Booker cried as he lifted the sword and plunged it directly into the terrified warrior's eye. The soldier reacted with a sudden upward thrust of his arms before falling silent as the battle had calmed and only the sound of raging wintery winds filled his ears. He desperately attempted to steady his breath as he stumbled forward and leaned on a rock for support._

_"Cor...DeWitt!"_

_"…DeWitt…."_

_"Mister…DeWitt…"_

"BOOKER!"

)))(((

The former soldier turned at the voice and was surprised to find Elizabeth standing between him and the broken statue, having expected to find an injured Slate and Private Lewis Palumbo tending his wounds. He turned to look at the foe he had just dispatched and found the body of a FireMan with a Columbian Officer's Sword sticking through his helmet. All around were various bloody bodies of Slate's men that he had slaughtered in his feverish departure into his own bloody past, modified the firefight in the here and now. Booker's blood ran cold at the prospect that he had, momentarily, lost all touch with reality and went on what was essentially a killing spree right in front of the girl; a spree that could have just as easily included her had she been in the wrong place at the right time. In his self-loathing he didn't even realize that Elizabeth had crossed the gulf between the pair and stood before him defiantly.

"What was that?" She asked almost frightened by the ferocious display, but confident enough to to show the man her fear as it would have only pushed him further away. Booker, for his own part, didn't dare look her in the eye, there was no easy way to reconcile his actions, but he didn't get the chance to try as Slate spoke up once more.

"**You see, young miss? You see the man that Comstock ****wishes ****he was? That man right there, he's a ****real ****soldier! A Hero! Not some tin man!" **

"I never asked for any of this! I don't have any quarrel with these men, Slate! He affirmed as he dropped to his knees, Elizabeth quickly rushed to her protector's side as she looked between the man and the snow-covered ceiling.

"**Heroes never ask—"**

"I never claimed to be no hero…" Booker trailed off and Elizabeth watched the interplay with rapt intrigue.

"**Then what are you? If you take away all the parts of Booker DeWitt you tried to erase, what's left?**

"DAMN IT, SLATE! JUST GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!" Booker shouted up to the rafters, startling Elizabeth with his sudden and unexpected outburst.

"**I will. ****After ****you do the same for me. Come and look for me amongst the Ghost Dancers." **Slate promised and ended the exchange, leaving the pair alone with their thoughts once more.

"Who are the Ghost Dancers?" Elizabeth asked as she knelt down and shone the light of her lantern upon the stricken detective, checking for any signs of sustained injury from his 'incident'

"Wounded Knee, he means for us to head to the other display." Booker sighed as he stood up and bushed himself off.

"**Can you hear Comstock's tin soldiers coming to silence us? But we are the true patriots! The history that doesn't fit in their books!" **Slate's voiced boomed throughout the Hall once again before going silent, allowing the dull roar of the wind to fill the room.

"What happened just now?" She asked as Booker's eyes matched hers then darted away with what looked to be shame. Elizabeth wasn't having any of it though and reached up to grasp his solid chin with her small hand and directed him to look back at her.

"I'm not letting this go, now tell me, what happened." She inquired amicably as she stared into his troubled eyes. Booker opened his mouth to speak, but found that the dismissive words had failed him. With a huff he closed his eyes and began to speak, opening them once more.

"I told you that I served in the United States Marine Corps, right? Well my first major tour of duty was serving as part of the Legation Guard during the Boxer Rebellion…" He began as Elizabeth's eyes grew wide and she released his jaw.

"You were there, through the worst of it...I can see it in your eyes. " She gasped.

"Yeah, I was…so was Slate as you undoubtedly picked up." Booker stopped and measured his next words carefully. "Different units but on the same side."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Elizabeth quipped lightly as the pair departed the room and slowly made their way back to the rotunda.

"Suppose not, I tried to link up with them shortly after we were ambushed and I assumed command. Unfortunately for Slate and his men, but we didn't make it quite in enough time. Slate was the only survivor." Booker lamented as they ducked beneath wooden cutout that had spooked them prior.

"Mister DeWitt, what did he mean?" Elizabeth began uncertain of her procession down this path of inquiry, but she needed to know.

"About what?" Booker asked as they made it back to the rotunda.

"Slate. He said you were trying to erase something-what are you trying to erase?" She asked determined to uncover this latest mystery as the detective ground to halt. Elizabeth shuddered at the sudden chill in the room, or perhaps it was her imagination as she watched her protector suddenly grow cold at her words. The worried woman could only stare as he walked over to the rounded structure that bore timeline in the center of the room and picked a point on which to focus. He swallowed and then began to speak.

"I joined up because…" He stopped and craned his neck at the discomfort of broaching a decisively uncomfortable topic. "I joined because I thought I could prove something…"

"What?"

"That I wasn't worthless, that I could be a real man, like my father was…but I was a fool." He brought his fist down upon the stone structure in anger.

"I'm afraid I don't follow." The young woman queried as she approached the grief-laden man.

"I made a mistake when I was younger, a big mistake, and I thought I could rectify it by enlisting. I ended up doing things Elizabeth, terrible things to people that, well, I'm pretty sure they didn't' deserve what I brought down upon them."

"It was war, I'm sure—" She began to justify but he cut her short.

"Don't! Just, don't. I didn't _just_ follow orders, I made a choice! Even in war there's things you do and things you don't…Look remember when you talked about wanting to travel with me, and I told you that you were better off finding someone else?"

"Yes but—"

"Well I meant it! What I did over there, the man I became…there's no coming back from that…and I was a fool for thinking anything could change that."

"Booker, when you came to the city, you submerged yourself under the waters of baptism, right? " Elizabeth asked, as she stood right before her vexed protector.

"How did you—" Booker asked and Elizabeth huffed in annoyance that he was attempting to deflect, and nodded in the affirmative to placate this young woman's ire.

"Everyone who is to walk Columbia's hallowed streets is to undertake the sweet waters of baptism. When you submerged yourself, you recommitted yourself to the Lord and put off that old man who committed whatever it is that you believe you've done to affront Him. You are a new man, a different man, Booker."

"Really? A dunk in the water and I'm suddenly absolved! No. After all that I've done already, I don't buy it." Booker spat at the woman who merely put her hands at her lips and gave him a stern look of defiance.

"Look I can't begin to divine what the Lord has planned for us, but he brought you here for a reason…" Elizabeth began but Booker in his blind anger lashed out again.

"Why do you think I came here? Charity? I gambled Elizabeth, I owe a substantial sum of money to a lot of people, some of whom would gladly see my head on a silver platter as payment."

"So you lied to me?" Elizabeth raised her voice as Booker gave her a wide-eyed glare.

"What?"

"You said you were brought here by those two who wanted to talk to me? But if what you're saying is true, you just came to get me and use me like some sort of…bargaining chip." Elizabeth's voice faltered as she entertained the possibility that her savior was nothing more than a liar and a cheat like he claimed, it was a possibility that she hadn't wish to entertain.

"What? No! That's not…okay, look, they promised to settle my debts if I brought them to you. I wasn't gonna' sell you like some kinda jewel!" Booker replied with indignation.

"Then you're not all that bad are you!" Elizabeth shot back. "You could have come here, whisked me away, lied to my face, and sold me off at the first opportunity. But you didn't. You made a choice, an honest choice, because you're an honest man Booker DeWitt. One who I am glad to have made acquaintance." Elizabeth declared proudly and Booker deflated at her words, she had him beat at that but still if she knew the things he'd done.

"Elizabeth…if you only knew the things I did…" He chocked but Elizabeth hushed him bringing a finger to his lips and a faint blush to his cheeks at her sudden physical contact.

"And when you're ready, we will talk about them…but right now, I see an honest man who bravely stormed my tower and rescued me from the clutches of my captors…so no more of this self-depreciation, understood." Elizabeth ordered as Booker half-rolled his eyes and looked downward.

"Ahem, I'm waiting." The determined young woman ordered.

"Understood. Geeze, for such a tiny little thing you're tougher than you look." Booker chided and Elizabeth softly pet his cheek with a triumphant grin.

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding! And don't you underestimate me, I'm full of surprises." She said with a air of faux-smugness as she stepped away and walked over toward the entrance of the Wounded Knee exhibit.

"I'll bet you are…"

* * *

Elizabeth and Booker walked the amber-lit walkway through the Native American-themed exhibit, though the characterizations were just as crude as the other display. The halls were filled with pre-recorded chants and filled with more wooden cutouts leaping out at the visitors, leading to Elizabeth keeping barely an inches distance away from the detective.

"**The tin soldier has taken credit for the deeds of real ones, like your companion young lady. Now his, father, Jonathan B. DeWitt, wrapped himself in glory on December 29 ****eighteen hundred and nintety before shedding his mortal coil."**

Booker clenched his fists and felt a soft push from Elizabeth's shoulder as she looked back up to him with a reassuring smile. Booker nodded in a subtle thanks as they made it to the end of path, a golden light shown brightly upon a central display of two Lakota warriors roughly manhandling a white-woman, readying their blades to slit her throat. Booker ushered Elizabeth forward as shocked expression at the display was more than sufficient cause for the detective get her out of here as quickly as possible. The two made their way down the right hand of the hall way, rounding another depiction of a Lakota Warrior scalping a soldier and holding his trophy high with a sense of pride in one hand and a tomahawk in the other.

"Your father, what did he mean back there?" Elizabeth asked quietly as they approached the set of double doors.

"My father fought bravely that day, bloody and _debatable _as the affair may appear now, I'm told he did his duty and did so with honor. In fact, I was told he threw himself in the mix of things when the gunfire started and bravely fought the enemy with his all. By the time the massacre ended, they found bits of his uniform bloodied and torn, but no sign of his body. Wasn't uncommon though." Booker responded in a somber tone, not liking to reflect upon his father's death as they stepped inside the room and triggered another Patriot to speak its spiel.

_"With hue and cry, with hatched red, they danced amongst our noble dead! But when our soldiers took the field, the savage horde could only yield."_

"I know I said it before, but I am sorry for your loss Mister DeWitt."

"I appreciate it, but like I said, I've had quite a few years to make my peace over it." He said as he gripped a doorknob. "Alright, hopefully this'll be the end and we can deal with Slate on amicable terms." Booker sighed as he withdrew his Hand Cannon and readied to open the door.

"What if he's not amenable to peaceful exchange?" Elizabeth asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Then I'll keep this handy." He responded, gesturing to the revolver as he opened the door and allowed Elizabeth to step inside as he entered and scanned the room for any sign of Slate or other threats, but found none.

"**Young Lady, we strode that battlefield like the heroes of Sparta, his father and I! I-I still hear the screams…I wonder, does Comstock?" **Slate went silent as the pair could hear the sounds of doors being kicked open that motion of movement in between the moving displays of armed Native American warriors and rock formations. Booker grabbed Elizabeth and settled her between a large rock and a set of wooden cut-outs and motioned for her to stay put.

"**Here's the soldier I promise men! Just like his father! The kind of man Comstock pretends to be! See if I told you true!" **He cried as the men roared and cheered, storming the room with gusto.

The first soldier he faced rounded the central display of Zachary Comstock standing proudly over several frightened Lakota, and the man opened fire on Booker's position. He was quick but the veteran was quicker and put a round in the man's hand, dropping him where he formerly stood. A hail of bullets rained down and lit up Booker's shield like New York Harbor on the Fourth of July. Booker summoned the Murder of Crows and sent them after his assailants, their yelps of pain confirmed his success. The veteran stepped out of cover to clear the room but quickly found himself besieged by a club-weilding assailant, who swung directly for his head. Booker brought his forearm up to block, not the smartest move in hindsight as the glaring pain throughout this arm reinforced, but it was enough to catch the soldier by surprise, long enough for the veteran to bash him over the head with the butt of his revolver and fire a round through his cranium. He turned and fired three swift shots at the men fighting off the crows and dropped them like flies.

"Here, take this!" Elizabeth shouted from cover and Booker turned to catch a lever action shotgun, loaded and ready to go.

"Thanks!" Was the quick reply as a few more soldiers leapt from the rafters and attempted to get the drop on the detective. Booker was ready for anything and let them get close enough to blow them away one by one until he had fully discharged his firearm at the men and discarded the rifle as the next wave rushed the room.

"Can't you see this is pointless!" Booker shouted at them as he withdrew his mouser and began firing at two of this latest group, putting them down before they could get into position. The other three rallied and opened fire, riddling Booker's shield with gunfire until it finally shattered under the duress. At this point, the veteran dropped behind cover as bullet grazed his neck, he brought his bandage covered hand to check for blood and surprisingly found none.

_'Okay, this thing has limits, good to know.'_ He thought to himself as he reloaded his Mauser.

"Come on tin man! Show us what you're made of!" He heard one call out in a mocking tone. Booker sat and readied himself, hoping to lull them into a false sense of security before he came out to strike. Just before he stepped out of cover he felt familiar warmth overtake his body as golden-yellow glow filled his vision. '_Damn thing must regenerate or somethin'.'_

The veteran sprung into action and fired on the closest soldier who fell to his knees clutching his abdomen in intense agony and was caught off guard as Booker rushed up to the man, grabbed him by the neck, and held him close like a human shield. Booker opened fire on the confused soldiers who attempted to duck into cover as the internal debate of how to proceed waged deeply within.

"Don't just stand their you idiots, kill him!" The soldier shouted at his comrades who nodded to one another and each stormed from their cover firing upon their target. The one closest to DeWit was felled fairly quickly as Booker fired half his clip into the mans head and torso. The other soldier opened fire wildly with his machine gun, firing wildly into the veteran's general direction. Booker hadn't seen such a weapon of that size capable of such destruction and knew that he would need to put this soldier out of commission now. Moving quickly, Booker approached the the soldier as he reloaded and thrust his dead comrade directly into him, disarming the terrified man in the process.

"Oh God, Bertram! You're gonna pay you-" These were the last words the soldier ever spoke before the veteran bashed his skull in with the Skyhook, effectively silencing the avenging warrior with a single swift stroke. Booker stood at ease and holstered the sidearm. But his respite was soon broken by the sound of screeching crows. His eyes went wide and he summoned the Devil's Kiss and turned to see one of those acolytes appearing from a shroud of darkness and feathers.

"Oh no you don't!" Booker grit his teeth and lobbed a boll of molten fire and God only knew what else and watched as it collided with the unsuspecting Zealot of the Lady, causing the man and his coffin to burst into flame, quite painfully by the sound of things as he writhed and attempted to put the fire out frantically with his burning arms. Booker deftly drew his Hand Cannon and slammed his palm down upon the hammer unloading the entire chamber into the chest of the powerful opponent, dropping him like a ton of bricks; the only movement being the twitches resulting from the flames still scorching its remains.

"**You did them a favor Booker, you let them die like men!" **Slates voice boomed throughout the Hall.

"Like hell I did, Slate! I don't know what you told these men, but there was NO reason for them to die today!" Booker retorted angrily as Elizabeth brought him some additional ammunition and began to look at his arm, analyzing the bruising from the club's blow.

"**I told them the truth of this world, DeWitt! Either Kill or be killed! You either die an honest hero or live enough to be paraded throughout the streets and executed as nothing more than a tin soldier!" **He retorted proudly and Booker scoffed with disbelief.

"There's more to life than that warrior's mentality, slate! The war's over! This is peacetime there's no need for any of this, their death's are meaningless! You hear me, Slate! THIS WAS ALL FOR NOTHING!" Booker shouted and Elizabeth winced as he screamed with all his might.

"**Booker, you only just arrived but I can assure you there _IS _a war going on! A war that could change the fate of the world! At the end of the day I, Cornelius Slate, will be known as the swift left hook of the Vox Populi. Their revolution will see a tyrant dethroned and global annihilation staved off." **

"What the hell are you talking about? Vox Populi? Global Anihilation? Have you finally lost it?" Booker questioned, he had always known that Cornelius was a few items short of a picnic basket but he never thought he was out-n-out crazy.

"**Soon, very soon, you will see, my boy. Come to the rotunda, it's almost over." **He finished darkly and audibly turned off the internal speaker system and with it the pre-recorded chants, drowning Booker and Elizabeth in a deafening silence, only interrupted by the dull firing of pistons and grinding of gears behind the display.

"You have any idea what he's on about?" Booker inquired as Elizabeth checked his hand bandages to make sure things were healing up properly before standing back up and shaking her head in the negative.

"I haven't heard of any such thing, of course I know little of the Vox Populi from the materials I read in my tower, but aside from that I'm probably the last person you should ask." She answered honestly and Booker shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair.

"I guess we have no choice but to keep playing his game then, let's get going. Hopefully we'll get some answers out of him back there!" Elizabeth concurred and both set out to return to the rotunda in a light sprint, hopeful to find Slate and end this whole debacle and leave Columbia forever. Unfortunately, when they arrived, they found an as yet empty room with no sign of Cornelius Slate or any of his men.

"**I've got what you need, Booker. You will find me past the First Lady's memorial." **Slate announced in a grim demeanor as the iron gates restricting this particular exhibit retracted and the doors burst open revealing a candle-lit vigil before a large portrait of Lady Comstock herself.

"**You've seen what Comstock has done to my history. Now come and see how he's re-written his own!" **The Colonel charged before cutting the line silent leaving Elizabeth to peer slightly inside then look back at her protector.

"Say what you will about Lady Comstock, she certainly had an eye for fashion." Elizabeth relayed with an impressed smile as she stepped inside to look about this newest chamber. Booker smirked at her observation, muttering about how lady-like it was but found his feet weighed down by some unseen force as the room grew immensely cold, Booker looked about the room and saw that Elizabeth was no longer present, and watched helplessly as the lights grew dimmer and dimmer until finally…a blinding white light consumed all

* * *

**Endnote: Chapter was running a little long and so I'm ending it on a cliffhanger! Again I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I thank you for continuing this far along and leaving reviews, both mean a lot to me as I like knowing people enjoy reading what I enjoy writing. **

**Anyway, until next time this is TheLifeLongEditor, signing off!**


	13. Chapter 13: The Choices We Make

**Chapter 13: The Choices We Make**

**Author's Note: So this is going to be the last chapter for the month of November, as this coming week for us in the United States marks the national Holiday of Thanksgiving. Suffice it to say, I'm going to be pretty busy so I probably won't be able get another chapter out before December; I mean it's entirely possible, but very improbable. **

**However, I am playing around with the idea of a small one-shot that I'm hopeful to have written and edited in short order so as to be released on Thanksgiving. A small sort of holiday gift to everyone. So I just thought I would go ahead and let you all know in advanced like I did last time. I mean I'll do my best but no promises, all I'll say is keep a close watch on your emails in the coming days ahead. Any way, enough chit-chat, on with the story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite or any of its characters.**

* * *

_Bookers vision cleared within moments and he was treated to a scene between a dark-haired bearded man and a lovely young woman wearing a gray dress, she sat red leather chair situated toward the center of a vast room, library or study, as evidenced by the bookshelves lining the walls, ornate wooden desk in the corner, and other various attributes. The man paced about and the woman watched him with a warm smile gracing her pleasant face._

"_What troubles you, darling?" _

"_There's something I wish to ask of you, but I feel as though my will to do so has fled__." _

"_Darling, you know you can ask me anything, right?" She asked, curiously without betraying so much as a hint of worry as she rested her hands together in the center of her lap. _

"_Indeed, it's just..." The man paused and paced about some more, as if to gather the courage to continue. _"_When you joined me here in Columbia, the whole of the city flocked to your example, a true testament to your redemption in the eyes of the Lord." The man declared as he moved over to the desk and retrieved a small black box, careful to keep it out of sight from the young woman._

"_I must admit, I was quite surprised at their affection, after all I am no saint...not like you at least. Without you, I would never have found forgiveness in the Lord." She admitted with a downcast look. The man approached her and knelt down to cast a supportive gaze into her eyes._

"_Well, the whole of Columbia seems to wonder when we will stand before the Lord and be united in Christ. I have always seen such things as being in the Lord's time, and I believe that time is now." He paused and opened the black box to reveal an exquisite diamond ring. The woman blushed and gasped in surprise, as she delicately reached to feel the offering, as if to doubt what was happening as being in reality._

"_So, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife, Lady Comstock?" The man proposed with an unnatural charisma as he floated her new title before her and the woman held out her hand so that he could slide the ring upon her finger._

"_Yes, Zachary, yes, I would like nothing more than to be by your side from now to eternity!" She exclaimed with glee as the prophet embraced his fiancée, wiping a joyful tear from her eye as he brought them both to a standing position, he smiled brilliantly at the glowing young woman. He was about to continue when a servant entered the room and beckoned for the lord of the house to answer an urgent call. The Prophet apologized to his betrothed and promised to return in short order to begin making arrangements. She nodded and watched him leave and looked about the room as if to look for something to occupy her new found time, that is until she directed her eyes upon Booker, confusing the man as he felt like an observer for this strange experience._

"_I believed he was a good man, a godly man, but then again…even Satan must have been appealing enough to have convinced Eve to bite the forbidden fruit." She directed at him and clapped her hands together suddenly and with a flash of light the vision ended._

* * *

Booker fell to his knees with a short gasp as the spots in his eyes began to fall away and he recognized very quickly that he was back in the real world, though seemingly felled by a wave of cold so much so that he could faintly see his own breath before rapidly warming to the room's temperature. Recomposing himself, he quickly rose to his full height just as Elizabeth turned to see what had just transpired. Booker gestured that he was fine but Elizabeth still approached and held a hand up this forehead and gasped.

"You're freezing! What on earth..." She trailed off as she reached for his hands which had the same chill, though were quickly regaining their warmth.

"I-I'm not sure, the second I walked through those doors I just got a chills. Thought it was all in my to be honest." Booker shiverred and shook as his body reacclamated to the current environment. He wasn't quite certain what he had just seen but he opted to withhold the information, there wasn't a reason to worry the girl over what could just be mental exhaustion. He brushed his hands down his clothes and craned his neck from left to right, alleviating the stiffness that had slowly build up.

"There, see, fit as a fiddle." He assuaged and Elizabeth reached and felt for his temperature, which to her surprise, was back to normal. She shook her head and turned on her heel, and made for the dual staircase with Booker following in pursuit. As Booker and Elizabeth descended the stairs, neither could deny the sense of awe and wonder that the room conveyed. Carefully constructed as an edenic garden complete with a waterfall on the wall closest to them, the entrance at the far exit exuded the prevalent Georgian columns. The floors were a mix of fine cobblestone in certain sections and flawless marble. At one end of the room was a wall-sized canvas of a moonlit sky and the other end was a gorgeous vista of the rising sun, which shone a heavenly ray upon the statue at the center of the room. The pair approached this massive centerpiece when Elizabeth began to read the plaques at the base of the structure.

"The seed of the prophet lay in the womb of our Lady but for a single week" Elizabeth recited. "Comstock…he had a child…my books never mentioned anything about a child." She declared as she turned to meet Booker who raised his eyebrows as he cast another look at the statue depicting Lady Comstock holding up a baby swaddled in blue clothe, all while she stood in a horse drawn chariot.

"That's quite an omission. Can't imagine that was by accident." He judged and rubbed his jaw in thought about this newest discover pertaining to the life of the city's esteemed prophet. Elizabeth rounded the statue and began to read the companion plaque, which continued the message the museum attempted to convey through this section.

"The child took ill, and our Lady prayed for the Prophet's heir day and night." She recited once more, her tone becoming more somber as morose thoughts swirled about in her head.

"You don't suppose the reason why you never read about the baby was because…" Booker started, but the look Elizabeth gave him stopped any other word from leaving his lips. She suddenly felt rather cold and brought her hands to her upper arms and rubbed furiously in an attempt to regain warmth. Booker too felt the familiar chill overtake him and looked about the room to determine the source when suddenly the lights began to flicker and dim.

**"_LIAR, LIAR, LIAAAAAARRR!" _**A distorted female voice blasted through the rooms intercom system, blanking out the comparatively soothing mozart piece by comparison. With a final scream, the lights flashed brightly and returned to normal, the temperature in the room slowly rose back to standard levels and the two looked at each other quite perplexed.

"I don't suppose Slate has an accomplice?" Booker asked hopefully, a sinking feeling filled his heart as Elizabeth looked at her hands with wide eyes and back to the detective with a quivering lip out of fright.

"I-I'm not sure, let's keep moving. Maybe we'll find out more." Elizabeth said shakily as she walked ahead of the detective and made her way up the stairs. Booker took one last look at the statues, giving a focused look once more on the lady's face and then to the baby. Both were beautiful in their own right and whoever the artist was commissioned to perform the work sure must have been paid handsomely for their efforts. He turned and ascended the stairs, diverting his gaze toward a tiered water fountain before approaching the top and finding a curious looking rifle, similar to the ones he saw outside, propped up by itself. It had _Triple R_ emblazed upon the stock. The detective gripped the rifle; it was heavy if not sturdy and slung it around his back, before meeting Elizabeth's curious gaze once more.

"You never know. Could come in handy later." Booker justified as Elizabeth nodded agreement and offered Booker to lead the way ahead. He opened the set of double doors and took a few steps inside and was stunned at what this room had to offer, no, what it had to reveal.

"That's-That's my tower!" Elizabeth exclaimed breathlessly as she stepped ahead of the detective into the shallow pool of water that ran throughout the room. She was correct, there in the far corner of the room was a depiction of her tower, Monument Tower, on the other end of a bridge, which a statue of Father Comstock was depicted mid-stride as he crossed with the baby securely in his arms. As with the previous room, a light had been strategically placed behind the tower to give the room a heavenly glow. Before either of the stunned pair could speak on this latest window into the storied prophet's life, an automated message began to play over the music

"_**LO! While Daisy Fitzroy has murdered my beloved, she shall not have the child! She shall not come betwixt her and prophecy!" **_

Elizabeth looked to Booker, her eyes wide and frantic, swimming with possibilities as he calmly approached her. He was about to say something, anything, to try to calm her down but the statue of Father Comstock began to churn out another recital.

"_**THE SEED OF THE PROPHET SHALL SIT THE THRONE, AND DROWN IN FLAME THE MOUNTAIN OF MAN!" **_

"Am I…Am I…?" Elizabeth sputterd as the weight of the revelation threatened to overwhelm her entirely.

"You're…you're Comstock's Daughter…" Booker finished and winced at his own words. He chided himself for how stupid he was, she didn't need him lamely confirming what was probably the single most earthshattering revelation she could ever experience. She said it herself, she didn't know who her parents were and yet now she knew, and in Booker's mind sometimes knowing was worse than not knowing; in this case he was certain that it was a _lot _worse than not knowing.

"No! No, no, no, no I can't be…I CAN'T BE!" Elizabeth nearly screamed as she paced about, trying desperately to escape this horrific discovery before she halted and leveled an intense glare at the detective, who stood perplexed at her sudden change in demeanor. "Did you know?"

"I'm sorry?" Booker wasn't quite sure how to answer, with indignation or understanding.

"Don't! Don't play games with me, Did. You. Know?" She said very cross as she crossed the void between them and shoved a finger into his chest to emphasize each word as tears threatened to spill the banks upon her cheeks.

"No! I didn't!" Booker shot back, lightly swatting away her small hand in the process. "I only just got here a couple days ago, I had no idea he was your father or that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps…besides I would have told you if I knew, not going off offering to help you find your folks." Booker finished softly and Elizabeth nodded and began to pace once more. Elizabeth began to throw out hypotheticals only to answer them she as well as start and stop conversations between herself and some invisible other all the while her hands flew about wildly.

"How could he do such a thing? How could she? Is it because of my? Did I do something wrong?"

"Elizabeth…" He tried

"No, there's no way, I'm barely twenty-one, I can't rule a city! I don't WANT to rule a city."

"Elizabeth…" He tried a little more sternly and approached the girl whose paced had now increased to keep in tempo with her words.

"NO! I don't care _what _he wants! I want a puppy and that doesn't mean _I'm _getting one!" Elizabeth shouted before her ranting and raving came to a complete and rather sudden halt as she felt a large and muscular hand grip her comparatively smaller and smoother hand. She looked to see Booker giving her a smirk as he briefly squeezed her hand with confidence.

"Elizabeth, look, I'm sorry. I had no idea, but it's going to be all right. We're gonna get the Shock Jockey, we're gonna get the First Lady, and then we're gonna get out of here, away from all of this…" Booker ran out of words at this point and waved his free arm about to emphasize his point as a few soft sobs wracked Elizabeth's tiny frame as she rubbed her eyes clean.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you must think me some petulant child, throwing a tantrum." Elizabeth looked away, embarrassed by her behavior as Booker chuckled and shook his head in the negative.

"No, not really. I think you reacted just about as naturally as one who'd been locked in a tower for all their life who suddenly found out not only they had parents, but said parents put them in the tower and were close by, would react…" Booker said flippantly and Elizabeth gave a small smile and raised her head to meet Booker's eyes once again.

"That's sweet of you, Mister DeWitt. Thank you." She said softly as she wiped the remnants of tears upon the cuff of her sleeve.

"Don't mention it." He remarked before deciding to lighten things up. "Now then, what's this about you wanting a puppy?"

Elizabeth chuckled and threw a light punch at the detective's shoulder and watched in amusement as he feigned injury Booker gave a brief bout of laughter at watching the look of incredulity flash across the young woman's eyes and Elizabeth couldn't help but respond with laughter as well, there was something about the man's voice, his actions, that seemed to bring something out in her, something there that she never knew before, it stoked a warm and fuzzy feeling that she felt back when they were on the boardwalk yesterday.

"You okay?" He asked sincerely, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Yeah. Yeah I think, I'll be okay. It'll take some time to comprehend all of this." She made a wide sweeping motion with her hands before folding them up to her chest. "But…thank you." Elizabeth answered truthfully. For the moment she could contain the concoction of emotion swirling around in her head, but she would undoubtedly need time to properly cope with the ramifications of this discovery.

"Alright, well, if uh you need to take a break we can stop and uh..." Booker fumbled through his next words, not exactly having ever been an expert on comforting sad or recently shocked women.

"No, there's no need, Mister DeWitt. I shall be perfectly fine, even moreso when we leave this _city._" She all but spat the next words as she dried her eyes off with the cuff of her sleeve and looked around the bridge to see another set of doors at the far end of the room. "Looks like there's our way beyond, I think I can pick my way through."

"By all means." Booker gestured for her to proceed and followed her as he looked about the room, watching for any sight of Slate or his men. When Elizabeth set to cracking the lock, Booker stood watch and observed the room from the doorway, a flash by the statue of Father Comstock caught Booker's attention and he paid close attention and rose his eyebrows high at the sight. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn that, for a brief moment, he saw the whispy image of a woman reaching out for the statue.

"Elizabeth look at..." The startled detective began.

"Got it!" She pushed the doors open and turned to attend to her companion's request. "Alright, look at what?" She asked politely.

Booker took his eyes off the spectral figure and looked to Elizabeth and back again, only to find the whispy form had vanished. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his kneck as he shook off the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

"I-uh-must be seein' things." Booker sighed as he turned back around to go on ahead.

"What do you mean? What did you see?" She asked curiously. Booker looked down at her and gave a slight frown before turning his gaze forward.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He muttered and Elizabeth put her hands on her hips in defiance.

"Try me." Booker paused at her words and stroked his chin in thought on how best to approach the retelling without painting himself an absolute lunatic.

"So back there, when I got cold, I umm saw a vision or somethin', it was of Comstock and his wife..." He trailed off and Elizabeth nodded both in comprehension and to usher him to proceed. "So umm, while you were-uh-lockpicking, I could have sworn I saw her ghost." He finished darted his eyes around the room, not daring to meet what was sure to be a judge-mental stare. He wouldn't blame her after all, it's not everyday a man goes around claiming he's seeing dead people, not a man like him in any case.

"Well, that's certainly unusual, Mister DeWitt. But I won't discount your experiences as the result of stress. We both felt the cold and as for the other room, with the lights...something strange is going on here." Elizabeth concluded logically, much to the surprise of the detective who wore his shock on his face, so much so as to cause the young woman to slightly chuckle.

"Wait, you believe me?" He asked, baffled.

"In a sense, I didn't see it for myself, but you don't strike me as one to tell tall tales. Perhaps there's more here than meets the eye." Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully and Booker gave a grunt in agreement and gestured for them to enter the next room. Upon stepping inside, the music changed to a piece that depicted fire, passion, and determination. Its harsher intimations perfectly matched the decorum of the room as a statue of the Vox Populi leader, Daisy Fitzroy, stood poised at the door frame with a blood red clothe, laying in wait to dispatch the fair Lady Comstock, depicted as praying toward the sun in the midst of a shallow pool, completely unaware of the fate that lay in store. A small adjoining room to the left proudly displayed some personal affects as well as some unique dresses that, if the detective hadn't known better, he could have sworn he had seen prior to his arrival in Columbia. He didn't have much time to dwell as he and Elizabeth needed to keep moving lest they fall pray to whatever traps Slate may have set upon them.

The pair quickly made their way through the chamber and into the next, the music taking yet another startling turn, heightening any anxiety that any visitor might have already experienced from the other exhibits. Titled, _Comstock's Vengeance, _the plaque perfectly described the scene set by this next stage of the exhibit as Comstock, buttressed by the shining full moonlight put Fitzroy to the sword as her men fell into a pit of flame behind her; Elizabeth and Booker shared a look and made their way to the courtyard beyond. This newfound progress also brought forth another obstacle in the form of a locked steel gate.

"Damn it, it's locked up pretty tight." Booker expressed in frustration as he gave the barrier a good tug to ascertain its condition, unfortunately like most things in Columbia it was kept in pristine shape. Elizabeth for her part observed the gate and the distance between the bars and proceeded ahead.

"I can get through these…" Elizabeth began as she demonstrated the effectiveness of her small stature as she squeezed through the bars. "…no problem. Unfortunately, you're much too broad. I'm going to scout ahead and see if I can't find something to get you on this side of the fence."

"Don't wander too far, Elizabeth. With Slate around, there ain't no tellin' what that madman would do if he got his hands on you." He ended on a serious note, but the words seemed to pass right over the girl as she looked up into the sky with a an airy gaze.

"Look, can you see it?" The young girl exclaimed, as she broke free of her reverie.

"See what?" was his confused remark as he began to wonder if the stress of recent events had finally begun to wear on her sanity as it had with his own. Elizabeth quickly dispelled the notions as she reached out with her hands toward the sky, as if she were gripping a rope, and gave a solid tug and stumbled back toward the fence, desperately trying to regain her breath. Her efforts weren't for nothing as there before them rested a massive freight hook assembly, flickering and shimmering as it was brought into this world from another.

"A-a tear, somethin' I brought to this world." Elizabeth muttered as she slunk down and rubbed her temples, her words slightly slurred as she fell into the grips of a monumental migraine.

"I'll be damned, a freight hood. That's convenient, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth." Booker quipped as he retrieved his skyhook and watched as it whirled to life.

"I tend to think of it as a form of wish fulfillment myself." She corrected as she stood to her full height once more, the migraine subsiding as it left behind a slightly woozy and agitated Elizabeth.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth? You looked as if…"

"I'm fine, Booker. Just come on over so we can get the Shock Jockey." She shot back as she pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes clamped shut.

He wasn't about to argue with the girl, but in his observation it appeared that these tears exacted a toll from the girl. The amount seemed to depend on the type of tear and what all was involved and, honestly, it scared him. All sorts of questions concerning the correlation between her abilities and her health ran through his head as he stood back from the gate and took aim toward the hook. With a pull of the trigger the detective launched into the hair and hung from the freight hook.

"There may be more where that came from, but I'm not entirely sure. " Elizabeth muttered as Booker leapt back to the balcony below to once again stand opposite of the talented young woman.

"Why do you say that?" He asked as he watched her fidget nervously.

"It's just that—whenever I get anxious, tears have a way of appearing."

"We'll have to discuss that later, right now it looks as though Slate's rolling out the red carpet for us." Booker noted as he motioned for Elizabeth to take a gander at the far end of the courtyard where a large group of armed men emerged and scouted ahead, preparing for the eventual arrival of the fabled pair that their fearless leader had warned them about.

"That's a lot of men down there, a lotta fire power too." Booker noted as he withdrew his machine gun and began to take aim, only to have Elizabeth reach out and push the gun back down.

"Wait, Booker, I think I see another Tear that could help. Here let me…" Elizabeth reached out as if to grab something and gave a mighty jerk backward and as she did so a flash of light burst from the center of the courtyard and the once empty space was now sufficiently occupied by a mounted machine gun turret and barricade which proceeded to open fire upon the platoon of men. They took cover and began barking orders at once another as one-by-one the men who were most caught off guard fell to the automated death machine; Booker and Elizabeth watched the carnage with a mixture of fascination and terror at the amount of damage a machine could unleash.

"Gotta hand it to you, you sure found some handy…Elizabeth?" Booker's compliment stopped dead in its tracks as he glanced over only to find the woman in question leaned heavily upon the railing, a steady stream of blood trickling down her nose as she struggled to breath. Booker rushed to her side and gently held her back to his chest as he slid to the ground to help her recover.

"There there, I gotchya, just don't do anything for the moment. Conserve your strength." Booker ordered softly as he retrieved a handkerchief from within his waistcoat and held it the exhausted girls nose with little applied pressue to stem the bleeding, all the while gunfire and screams filled the air.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. It-it's not usually this bad." She silently apologized, embarrassed that her attempts at assistance led to such a weakly attempted to bring a hand up to hold the clothe, her arms had other ideas as each felt as though they were being weighed down by enormous ship's anchors. Booker lightly brushed a strand of hair out of her face to get a better look at the girl, she was quite pale but with the amount of blood that initially poured from her nose, it was exactly a surprise.

"No need to apologize. I mean c'mon, how many times have you pulled a freight-hook assembly AND a mounted turret emplacement through to this world from another." He charged and Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she marginally tilted her head too and fro in a somewhat defiant 'here-and-there' response. "I'm guessing from your lack of verbal response it's probably not a lot, if ever. The way I see it, it looks like these Tear-things take a lot out of you, so you probably should use them sparingly until we either get out of Columbia and find a way to control them or find something to help you manage them better…whichever comes first."

"This really doesn't bother you does it? My tears?" Elizabeth asked weakly as she tilted her head up to look the detective in the eye.

"It's a bit _unusual _I'll give you that, it's not everyday I meet a woman who can make the unreal _real. _Then again you still hang around a bastard like me, so what does that say about each other's judgement." He finished darkly and Elizabeth sighed at his self deprecation.

"Don't talk like that Booker, you're a good person."

"You don't know that." He responded darkly and looked off to notice the sounds of battle had died off. He felt a small hand turn his head once more and quickly met a pair of determined eyes.

"Do we need to go through this again?" She leveled and Booker shook his head in the negative. "Good, now help me up. I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"Sure, thing. Here, let me…" Booker motioned and helped her stand up, she wobbled about slightly as the lightheaded feeling hadn't totally subsided by the time she had arisen, but with a few moments leaning against the stone balcony, she felt as fit as a fiddle. She motioned to give the detective back his handkerchief, marred by the last vestiges of Blood that had spilt from her nostrils, but he held out a hand to stop her.

"Keep it, in case you need it again." He assured her as he turned to scan the courtyard for any sign of enemy life, not noticing how Elizabeth smiled at the kind gesture and gripped the small bloodied clothe tightly before hiding it within a small pocket in her skirts.

"Looks like the coast is clear, that turret seems to have taken care of the lot of 'em. Here get close and hang on and I'll get us down." Booker motioned and extended his arm out as he took his free hand to get the Skyhook ready. Elizabeth walked over and allowed the detective to get a good grip around her waist and squealed in surprise as they launched into the air and then back down to the ground all in the instant.

"You good?" Booker asked as Elizabeth brought her hand to her chest as it heaved with the intense breaths of exhilaration.

"Yes, sorry, you just took me by surprise that's all. Give a girl a warning next time, would you kindly?" She quipped with a mirthful tone as she strolled forward, navigating around the barricades and bodies as Booker followed closely. As they approached the door, Booker had to give that Fink fella credit, if the name on the turret was anything to go off. He had no idea what sort of man he was, but he could make a hell of a killing machine if these bodies were anything base his conclusion. As he approached the doors with the girl close behind, the former marine began to ponder whether he was witnessing the dawning of a new era of warfare, one where machine and man worked side by side to kill one another. The prospect was unsettling to the say the least, the untold damage and horror such a combination could bring, but he wasn't here to wax philosophical and pushed through the double doors and rushed ahead with Elizabeth following closely.

"Alright, end of the line, keep an eye out for that Shock Jockey vigor. It's gotta be around here somewhere." He ordered, his instincts harkening back to his days as a Sergeant in the marines. Elizabeth didn't seem to mind the slip though and nodded as they moved beyond the antechamber and into next room and wouldn't they know it, it too was shrouded in darkness.

"I don't like this…" Elizabeth fretted as she looked about the room and noticed a series of tears with difference possibilities. Booker nodded and stepped lively, drawing his Mauser and looking about the room, waiting for Slate to spring his next trap upon them. As the pair made their way deeper into the room, they must have triggered an automatic response as one by one the mechanical patriots came alive and began to spout pre-recorded propaganda.

"_To the sky, Comstock bent his knee, and saw with holy prophecy. An Eden floating in the midst, by man forsworn, by heaven kissed._

"_Too rare is the man who takes a stand, for glory…"_

"_With hue and cry, with hatchet red, they danced among our noble dead…"_

"_T'was yellow skin and slanted eyes that did betray us with their lies…"_

"_**Tin men, Booker, that's what Comstock will turn us into. Wires and gears to replace heads and hearts!" **_Slate's voice overwhelmed the motorized patriot's cries and with his end of his declaration so too did the patriots cease their recitals. A loud bang and the flash of a spotlight shone brightly at the rear of the room and to their horror, the pair watched as a Motorized Patriot burst forth from its confines, brandishing what looked to the former soldier to be a heavily updated and modified 1862 .50 Rimfire Gatling gun.

"Booker!" Elizabeth warned with worry as stood close to the detective out of fear, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined being terrorized by a killer machine, yet here one stood without regret or remorse, set forth to end their lives. Booker darted toward the center kiosk, dragging Elizabeth in the process, having barely avoided the heavy gunfire as the Patriot cranked the weapon.

"_For the glory of Columbia!" _It belched as it made its way toward the hiding pair. Booker retrieved his machine gun and cocked the weapon, readying himself to leap out and make any attempt to halt the insipid machine. The product of Fink Industries began to lay down a volley of intense machine gun fire upon the wooden structure, to their immense fortune it appeared that the kiosk was thick enough to take the bite out of the Patriot's long it could withstand such an onslaught would remain to be seen and Booker knew his luck wouldn't last forever.

This wasn't a fair fight by any means, but he wasn't about to just sit there and wait for the inevitable end. As fate would have it, Elizabeth wasn't about to sit idly by as well and with a great heave she pulled another heavy gun turret through a tear near the maintenance room, sat content with her actions and watched as the world around her spun, closing her eyes and leaning heavily back to regain her senses. The machine gun turret registered and identified the patriot as a primary target and opened fire with everything it had to offer. The Motorized Patriot made no attempt to dodge or hide from the fire, as it felt no pain, instead it wound up its gatling gun and traded fire its mechanical brother. Booker watched this play out and decided it was now or never, and broke from cover to fill the automaton with as much hot lead as possible.

"_The Lord judges, I act!" _It decried once more over the roar of battle.

"Act on this, you bastard!" Booker shouted as he kept his finger on the trigger, the muzzle of the machine gun slowly turning from the cool obsidian black to a molten red. The turret had been completely destroyed by this point, but not before riddling the facsimile of George Washington with intense fire, so much so that by the time the detective emptied his clip, the Patriot collapsed to its knees, its head exploding with fire and fury. Booker approached the destroyed machine and Elizabeth came up from the side. She wobbled slightly, keeping a hand pressed firmly to her temple as she approached.

"It looks like the gears are an exposed weak point, could-could be useful if we encounter another one of these—things." Elizabeth slightly stammered as the detective gave her a nod in agreement. Elizabeth shook her head and fixed her ponytail which had come slightly undone as Booker looked around for any obvious direction as to where the curators would have kept the precious _Shock Jockey._

"_**You see, Booker? Maybe you're not the same boy I first met all those years ago, or the man I fought along side—maybe you are. It doesn't matter. Comstock took our stories and scrubbed away our soul. Now…he's coming for me…and when I'm gone, all that will be left is the lie." **_

"Slate, just give us what we came for you crazy old bastard!" Booker shouted in defeat, as he was certain the grizzled veteran no longer listened. A soft series of clicks to his right perked his ear and looking over he found Elizabeth finishing her work on the lock to the maintenance room. She smiled as she wiped her brow and stood up straight.

"Booker, come quick, I think the Shock Jockey's in here!" She urged with newfound joy in this depressing situation and Booker couldn't help but sigh in relief, _finally some good news. _The pair opened the doors and made their way inside the spacious closet, inside were crates of provisions, a locked safe, and an opened crate of _Shock Jockey, _curiously marked with a red** 'CAUTION DO NOT DISTRIBUTE: RETURN IMMEDIATELY**_' _stamped across all four sides of the crate. The floor surrounding the decorations and crates was littered with broken glass and a strange blue liquid, with blue footprints leading to and from the room.

"The place looks like it was randsacked, no doubt by Slate." Booker surmised as he looked about in hopes of finding another crate amidst the clutter, but no had no such luck. "There ain't any Shock Jockey here...DAMN IT! All this and for what? Nothing!" Booker shouted and slammed a closed fist down on a provision crate in frustration.

"Perhaps not, look. Slate must have taken them!" Elizabeth gasped as she returned to the main room, followed by Booker who was curious as to how she came to her rather unlikely conclusion but sure enough the entrance they used was now being blocked by violent arcs of electricity emanating from various blue crystals strewn about the floor.

"You don't think…"

"Slate, he's here alright. Come on, if we hurry, we can catch up to him." Booker ordered with new found hope in his low voice as he withdrew his Triple R and reloaded with a fresh clip, provided by Elizabeth. The veteran made his way around the arcs, careful not to step between the crystals and receive what was sure to be a nasty shock as a result, guiding Elizabeth in the process. Having navigated the artificial maze, the two made their way outside where a floating craft approached and hovered above the courtyard. A blaring klaxon emanated from the craft as it hovered high above the courtyard, positioned in line with a blue figure standing on the balcony.

"W-What is that?" Came the frightened cry from his companion as she looked up at the unfamiliar craft. Booker looked at her in confusion until he realized that in all of the hustle and bustle of escaping the tower, she probably hadn't been looking about at the people trying to kill them, well him at least.

"Comstock's ships, no doubt. He's coming for Slate." Booker concluded as Elizabeth gasped at the implications of the former soldier's words.

"_**SURRENDER COLONEL SLATE! ORDER YOUR MEN TO STAND DOWN AND WE CAN END THIS AMICABLY! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN YOUR IMMEDIATE ARREST AND DETENTION!" **_Plead a soldier from the craft, modified by some unseen instrument to carry his voice over the din of the engines and across the large gap.

"It was Slate who killed for his country at Wounded Knee! It was SLATE and DeWitt who stormed the gates at Peking! YOU CAN'T TAKE THAT FROM ME! NOT NOW, NOT EVER!" The old man shot back from the balcony where Elizabeth and Booker once stood. He glowed a brilliant and pulsating blue as electricity arced from his hands, Booker surmised he had ingested quite a large amount of the Shock Jockey and wondered if there were such a thing as overexposure or a kind of intoxication with these strange concoctions. But such thoughts would need to wait for a different time and a different place, now was not the time for rumination but for quick and decisive action.

"Slate? Just stay where you are!" Booker warned as he took a few tentative steps into the courtyard past the statues of soluting soldiers.

"Comstock's coming, Booker! But our lives won't satisfy him – oh no! He won't rest until he's turned us into tin! I won't let him! He took our past, _my _past-but that's all he's getting from me! That's all!

"Just give us the Vigor, Colonel! After that we will leave you to your war! We don't need to do this!" Booker bargained with the crazed Colonel and cautiously stepped forward, taking note of the various charged crystals shooting electricity in all different directions, one of which shooting toward the machine near the right door, giving it enough of a charge to unlock its gate mechanism.

"Here you go, boys! A soldiers death awaits!" Slate cheered and stepped back as men poured forth and as they charged ahead Booker noted that same anthem from from outside had begun once more, no doubt by Slate's hand, enhanced by the acoustics of the courtyard. Slate's men cheered and gave rousing 'oo-rah's' as they leapt down and made to coverage upon Booker's location.

"_First gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand, then came Alabama who took her by the hand. _

_Next quickly Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida, All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears the single star!_

They opened fire upon the former Marine who quickly shoved Elizabeth off into a small alcove where she would be safe from the oncoming fire. Booker summoned a handful of _Devil's Kiss_ and held his machine gun firm. He nodded to Elizabeth, wordlessly telling her to stay put and stepped out of cover and bravely charged the wave of soldiers. He spotted the nearest group of assailants and tossed the _Devil's Kiss _directly at their feet. The glorious explosion of fire and shrapnel sent the lot of the men aflame, rolling on the ground in agony as the tendrils of fire charred their hands and burnt their flesh.

"_Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right; Texas and fair Louisiana join us in the fight!_

_Davis, our loved president, and Stephens, statesmen rare; Now rally around the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star._

Booker seized this opportunity and opened fire, killing them all instantly. To his right another group descended and before they could ready themselves, the detective directed a wave of _Bucking Bronco _at them, sending the small group floating in the air, fish in a barrel for Booker who made short order of the soliders with the remainder of his clip. The detective watched as each man fell back to the earth, the light of life having long since fled from their terrified eyes.

"Booker, ammo!" Elizabeth shouted and the veteran wheeled around to catch another clip for the machine gun. Booker was about to chastise Elizabeth for stepping out into the open before he could fully certify that the area was clear, but Cornelius Slate had once again emerged from his spot and the anthem died on the speaker system.

"YOU'RE NOT THE BOOKER DEWITT I REMEMBER! TIN MAN, TIN MAAAAN!" Slate's crazed declaration echoed throughout the courtyard as he shot a charged crystal directly into the mechanism to the left of the space, unlocking another door mechanism with a loud ring of bells and whistles.

"Why don't you come down here and say that to my face you son of a bitch!" Booker fired back as he quickly reloaded in preparation for the next wave of men, which were undoubtedly ready and waiting for their commander's authorization. The veteran quickly took position behind the base of one of the statues and waited until he heard the doors burst open and the sound of boots on the ground before he stepped out and unloaded upon the soldiers; the anthem had started up once more.

"_And here's to old Virginia, the Old Dominion state, who with the young confederacy at length has linked her fate;_

_Impelled by her example, now other states prepare, to hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a single star! _

Booker fired and successfully ended the lives of the first four soldiers who emerged from the door way as the others, having bore witness to the fall of their brethren, quickly took cover and fired out rounds to suppress the False Shepard's onslaught. He heard one of them cry out for a Fireman to force him out and gulped at the implication, he wasn't looking forward to go toe to toe with another one of those pyromaniacs again. Soon enough, he heard the deep and slightly obfuscated voice of the Fireman in question order his man to clear the way as well as the telltale windup of the flame based weaponry. The veteran knew his position would soon be compromised and quickly sought better cover as his last, as the ground where he previously stood was now flooded with flame. Booker slung the machine gun around his back as he ducked from cover to coved, opting instead for his Mauser to quickly fire upon the remaining soldiers and the Fireman who continued his barrage.

"_Then cheer, boys, cheer, Raise the joyous shout! For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out; _

_And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given, the single star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be eleven!" _

Booker slammed in behind a makeshift sandbag cover and withdrew his machine gun and quickly reloaded the weapon with his remaining clip and looked at his bandaged right hand, still vibrating and pulsating with the raw energy of the _Bucking Bronco. _The fire upon his position had stopped as he heard the remaining men slowly approached and after waiting a few more moments, he exploded from cover sending whatever men caught in the wake of the _Bucking Bronco _high into the air, including the Fireman. The veteran took aim and fired at the soldier, ending the lives of the regulars before focusing the remaining fire upon the heavily armored flame-based enemy.

At first it didn't appear that he was inflicting any damage until he heard the familiar sound of a burst tank and in short order the man exploded with a brilliant ball of the flame and an angry scream. Booker took to carrying the empty machine gun with one hand and withdrew his Hand Cannon as one remaining soldier cried out to avenge his fallen comrades, the moment he exposed himself the detective sent three rounds into his chest, ending his life before he had a chance to do anything. The anthem died as the detective wiped his brow and Elizabeth approached, making to ask if the detective was okay but was rudely interrupted once more by the crazed colonel, a habit that grated on her nerves.

"Is that all you can muster, soldier? Come on now, DeWitt! Don't disappoint the boys! With that he heard the sound of more troops flooding down the stairs from the open door on the right as well as the newfound sound of mechanical terror in the form of a Motorized Patriot. Booker abandoned the spent firearm and dragged Elizabeth into the room where the previous wave had emerged and shoved her deep inside as he took aim and fired upon the soldiers, dropping them like flies as they entered the courtyard, only stopping to reload the high caliber revolver.

"_What is a life compared to a faith!" _He heard the machine roar as he dropped the final remaining soldier and looked about for the hellish automaton, only to watch in horror as it darted around a column and peppered the doorway with heavy machine gun fire. Booker reached around and sent a wave of _Bucking Bronco _in the direction of the Patriot, narrowly avoiding a steady stream of bullets in retaliation of his efforts. The detective noticed that the hail of gunfire suddenly lost focus and peered out and noticed the damnable machine stumbling back as a result of Booker's vigor.

"Catch, Booker!" Elizabeth shouted from the corner of the room and tossed him a fully loaded machine gun, no doubt left behind by the soldiers that he had just dispatched. Booker quickly cocked the machine gun and fired upon the devilish automaton. The veteran ceased his stream of fire to cast another wave of _Bucking Bronco _at the unflappable foe, which caused it once more stumble back as it attempted to reorient itself, this gave Booker the time necessary dart across the courtyard to take up position and lead it away from Elizabeth.

"_No negation, no surrender, no forgiveness!" _The crazed machine sputtered as Booker peppered it with gunfire before hiding behind another column to rethink his strategy.

Realistically he had nothing he could outright destroy the machine with, but he thought back to what Elizabeth said about the gears and figured it was worth a shot. He took a deep breath and emerged from hiding and rushed toward the hulking menace as it slowly wound up its Crank Gun. Booker summoned his _Devil's Kiss _once more and tossed it directly into the machine's torso resulting in a brilliant explosion of flame as the automaton fired wildly into his general direction. DeWitt's yellow shield came alive as he approached the flaming Patriot, bullets colliding with the barrier leaving the same impression as running through a light hailstorm, the bullets never pierced but each hit left a dull pain. Booker rounded the machine quickly and fired from the hip directly into the exposed gears of the machine, causing it to sputter and twitch violently as mini-explosions wracked its frame and just as Booker emptied the clip, the machine fell to its knees with one last explosion.

"COME ON DEWITT! SHOW ME WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF!" Slate jeered from the balcony and launched a series of crystals into the courtyard and vacated the premises with a maniacal laugh.

"Booker, are you—are you okay?" Elizabeth asked as the detective gripped the machine gun intensely, wild and crazed eyes looking about the courtyard ready for more. As she approached, the former soldier nearly leapt out of skin took aim only to see a frightened Elizabeth holding her hands up in surrender.

"Elizabeth, sorry, nerves, it uh got quite intense…c'mon, we need to get going before that crazy lune desides to throw all of Columbia down on our heads." Booker deflected as he bent over, picked up a few clips, reloaded, and slung the weapon around his back as he motioned for Elizabeth to follow his lead to the right-hand exit. Elizabeth followed but shot the detective a worried look at they navigated their way up the staircase and through a large antechamber, it looked to be another portion of the exhibit currently in the middle of being remodeled, but neither cared as they ascended another set of stairs and rocketed down a very long hallway and came to a stop before a set of double doors.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Booker murmured as he withdrew his Mauser and readied himself for whatever lay behind this next door.

"Agreed, we should be careful, there's nothing I wouldn't put past him at this rate." Elizabeth chimed up as she stood close behind. Booker gingerly opened the door and found that the hall way had lead them all the way back to the _Comstock's Vengeance _portion of the exhibit. At the other end of the room, sat an exasperated and seemingly unconscious Slate as he sat unhealthily still, all the while he clutched his chest fervently. Booker and Elizabeth approached with caution and as they grew closer the former soldier noted that his once brother-in-arms had a bottle of Shock Jockey in his other hand.

"Booker, he doesn't look so good." Elizabeth observed as she knelt down and examined the man for any obvious medical malady, but found no such sign of apparent ailment or injury. He was still breathing, so that meant he was alive but he almost appeared catatonic if Elizabeth's reading's could count for anything.

"I wonder, maybe it's the Shock Jockey. Those crates were marked 'to be returned', maybe there's somethin' in them that don't exactly agree with everyone's constitution." Booker surmised as he knelt down to examine his former comrade in arms.

"If this is the result, then do you think its wise for you continue ingesting each new vigor you come across?" Elizabeth continued with an undertone of worry.

"Don't see as I have any choice, the Bronco stuff had the same marking and I'm just fine. It could just be that it don't work the same for everyone."

"It begs the question, for the most part it appears that a user must continue to expose themselves to the vigor, but you haven't had to...at least not that I have seen, there might be properties and side effects you haven't accounted for." Elizabeth pressed but Booker huffed as he gave a slight roll of his eyes.

"Well I told you those two strange fella's gave me that, erm, infusion, or whatever." Booker paused and Elizabeth nodded in recollection. "Well, maybe there's more to it than just the shield, maybe they improved on the whole vigor process?" Booker surmised but Elizabeth was far from convinced.

"Even still, Booker. I'm not sure it's wise for you to continue taking the vigors. Not if they could potentially do _this _to you." She responded and motioned to Slate's example as he remained seated, his breathing still and measured.

"I don't see as I have any choice in the matter. These guys are getting tougher and I gotta be ready. Besides, I've already taken Vigors without any lingering effects and I'm pretty sure I can take this one." He declared with near absolute certainty, but noted the abject worry on the young woman's face. "Look at it this way, if anything happens I've got you to take care of it." He spoke softer and softly nudged her shoulder to which Elizabeth sighed with an acute grin.

"Now then, let's see if ol' Slate'll share." Booker whispered as he reached over to grab the bottle of Shock Jockey. Just as he got a handle on the bottle, the grizzled soldier stirred with renewed strength, causing Elizabeth to fall flat on her rear in fright. Booker's eyes went wide as Slate reached up and grabbed Booker by the collar and pulled him in close.

"You're not done here, soldier! Eat everything that's on your plate! Finish it!" He shouted as he lifted up his own Mauser for Booker to take and essentially finish him off. At this point the detective got a good look at his former brother-in-arms, he had visibly aged in the ten years that had passed since they had last seen one another, for one thing slate was now completely bald in that in of itself revealed several of the more prominent scars he received in direct result of his efforts in Peking. The grizzled old man put up a valiant front, but Booker could tell that Slate was a broken man, brought to the brink by a prophet who desired to rewrite history to fit his personal account; it was a war of truth, a war that was being lost with every soldier felled and every book that was burned.

"Take it, my boy." He uttered and gestured the Mauser in Booker's direction. "Be the man that Comstock _wishes _he could have _been._ Do it for old Cornelius, please." He finished softly and the former soldier looked between his old mentor and his companion. The look on her face spoke volumes as Booker wrestled internally on which decision he needed to make. On the one hand, he could put his old brother in arms out of his misery and walk away, but would that have been the right call to add another body onto the pile today. On the other hand, he could leave him alive in hopes that he could still be redeemed, but what would come of Slate. Would he pursue Booker for his failure? No, probably not as it was more likely that Comstock's men would seize him, and what sort of fate would that bring. So it was a choice, a merciful death for Slate or the choice of a different path for Booker.

"Well, soldier, what's it gonna be!" Slate shot at Booker who slowly reached for the Mauser.

"Booker..." Elizabeth called as she watched the events unfold. Booker took the pistol from his former mentor's hand and gave the metal implement a hard stare before closing his eyes and tossing it across the room. Slate seemed to collapse into himself at the sight and Elizabeth sighed in relief.

"No, not today Slate, you may die one day...but not by my hand." Booker declared as he reached down and retrieved the bottle from Slate's slackened grip, he then stood tall and proceeded to exit back through the way they had originally come. As he approached the doors, he looked down at the bottle and noted its rather simplistic design: a man riding a lighten bolt served to be the model of lid as a pendant depicting a fist grasping a bolt of lightening was proudly displayed on both sides. He unscrewed the bottle and without hesitation downed the entirety of its contents within seconds.

The exhausted veteran tossed the empty bottle aside savored the surprisingly pleasant taste of this vigor. Booker felt good, very good, he felt vibrant and alive, it was a curious feeling given the toll taken on him today and the detective looked down at his hands as strange and violent tingles wormed their way throughout his fingers and his body. His blue veins glowed with an electrically charged glow as they illuminated the small passages in his extremities. The veteran grew very warm and felt as though every inch of body was on pins and needles; he looked about the room and back down at his hands and watched with mixture of horror and amazement as deep blue crystals broke through front and backs of his palms and created an arc of electricity that the detective could control. He toyed with the power that generated in his hands until it built up to levels that he could not sufficiently control and shot them off into the wall before him, the faint sound of thunder echoing in his ears as the feelings lessened to more manageable levels.

"Are-Are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, unsure as to whether or not it was wise allow her savior to ingest the mysterious and unproven concoction. Yet this vigor didn't seem to take as much of a toll on the detective so much as it reinvigorated him, which went a little ways in consoling her fears.

"Yeah, just a little, tingly I guess…probably the unstable electrical nature of the thing. Come on, let's get out of here, I've had enough of this little jaunt down memory lane." Booker finished darkly as the young woman nodded fervently in agreement and rushed up to his side as he made to open the doors to vacate the area.

"YOU'RE A TIN MAN NOW BOOKER, A TIN MAN!" Slate shouted as they left him to wallow in his own despair.

Booker took one look back toward Slate and shook his head at the sad sight before pushing the doors open and striding through the exhibit as quickly as possible, Elizabeth taking up a light sprint to keep up before he made his way up to the first room where he stopped and looked at the portrait of Lady Comstock once more, debating internally whether he made the right decision.

"You spared him." Elizabeth finally addressed as she came to a standstill next to the detective, opting to look up at the portrait of her mother, wondering what kind of woman she truly was as well as entertaining thoughts as to how their relationship would have been had she not been killed.

"I doubt I did the man any favors." Booker muttered in response as he turned away and took a few steps forward before Elizabeth reached out and grasped his hand in hers, forcing him to a halt. He turned to face his young companion, acceptance and pride filling her face.

"You made the choice not to kill him, the right choice, Mister DeWitt." Elizabeth assured him but Booker shook his head.

"Yeah, but now Comstock's men will come for him—God knows what they have in store for that poor bastard."

"Even still, I don't believe killing him would have done any good."

"Maybe you're right, Elizabeth. Maybe you're right." Booker nodded, casting a far-off look back toward the collapsed man before turning and heading for the exit. As he opened the door, three soldiers wheeled around and took aim at the pair. Booker barely had time to draw his Hand Cannon and outstretched an arm to guide Elizabeth behind him.

"Hold it right there! Drop your...it's you, Sarge!" The one in the middle cried out and stopped mid order as he held his fist up and pulled his bandana from the his face to reveal his identity, at first Booker was at a loss but upon further inspection the identity of this man became clear.

"Private Donnelly, that you?" Booker questioned as he slightly slackened his aim, only slightly. The man in question was a few inches shorter than Booker, he was also slightly smaller in stature both in height and breadth. He had short cropped light blonde hair, and hazel eyes. He had one of those faces that seemed to exude an aura of eternal youth.

"It's _Corporal _now, under Slate's command." At those words he brought his weapon back to bare and so too his compatriots, Booker immediately stiffened his aim and reciprocated their actions.

"Stand down, soldier! I have no qualm with you today." Booker ordered as he fell back into his military role.

"No can do, Sarge. I'm under new orders now. It's either you or me." Donelly responded with remorse and Booker twisted his neck in frustration. He had enough of this bull, enough of the orders, enough of all of it.

"Damn it, _Donnelly__. _I don't want to kill you or your fellows, but I mean to leave this museum with the girl and get the hell outta doge." He spat and pointed the Hand Cannon behind him. "Right now your commanding officer is laying in a heap about two rooms down and any minute Comstock's men are going to raid the place, if they haven't already!" The three of them looked at each other and murmured amongst themselves. Donnelly closed his eyes and gave a sharp cough to regain the other two's attention.

"Orders, sir?" The man to the left asked nervously as Riley bit his lip in frustration. He closed his eyes and rolled his head about before lowering his weapon.

"Riley, Edward, move out and see if you can't retrieve the Colonel." He ordered dejectedly and the two looked between him and the detective, unsure of how to take this shift in direction.

"Sir, but our orders..."

"To hell with your orders, our C.O.'s in trouble, and we gotta get him out. NOW MOVE!" The two men gave a yes sir and bolted ahead through the Lady Comstock exhibit. Before long the sound of battle could be heard a few rooms down as the echoes of rifles and machine guns flooded the unnaturally quiet halls. Donnelly took two steps forward and gave a salute to the veteran who returned in kind.

"It was damn good to see you again, Sarge." He said, a look of resignation filled his eyes as his eyes darted to the rooms behind his former commander.

"Donnelly, if you can't get him out, get yourself out. Ain't no sense in losing two good men today." Booker urged quieter as he placed a hand on his former subordinate's shoulder and gave a firm squeeze and the younger man nodded.

"Sir, yes, sir. Now with all do respect, you better get your asses outta here...sorry ma'am." The young corporal apologized, having forgotten the presence of the opposite sex in their midst who wordlessly nodded in acceptance.

"Keep your head about you, and if you make it out, look me up in New York." Booker ordered and the man gave a ghost of a smile and nodded before storming off to meet his comrades in battle against Columbia's finest. Elizabeth watched the young man go off, the doors swinging in his stead and turned her attention back to her companion who holstered his weapon rubbed his hands through his hair.

"Who was that?" She asked, curious as she doubted that a man like Booker would have any association with a member of Columbian society. Not to say that he couldn't have friends in high places, if one were to pardon the pun, but he didn't seem the type for many, if any, friends or associations.

"Private, 'scuse me, _Corporal _Richard M. Donnelly, we served together back east..." Booker paused and looked back before stepping ahead. "He's a good man, a little young, brash even, but good. I should hate to see him caught up in another mess like this."

"You can't control the choices other people make, Mister DeWitt. Only your own." Elizabeth said somberly as she looked at the timeline etched on the central edifice in the room, reflecting upon the choices her parents made with her upbringing.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He looked down, almost defeated. The veteran took a deep breath with renewed determination. "Let's go, the sooner we leave the sooner we get out of here and away from..._this_." Booker urged and Elizabeth quietly acquiesced. The pair made their way back through Hall of Heroes, Booker keeping his eyes forward and Elizabeth struggling not to dwell upon the mamed and mangled bodies of fallen soldiers that seemed to litter every room. War was a nasty business, an even more controversial subject as she had read. Some viewed it as a necessary action to defend the integrity of civilization whereas others viewed it as the failure of man to be the civilized creation that God had initially put forth on this earth. Elizabeth didn't know which side of the fence she stood, but she knew that death and she did not agree.

Before long, the two of them emerged from the Hall of Heroes and made their way down the steps and to the center of massive courtyard, the dull tones of the _The Bonnie Blue Flag _still played lowly, as if to further add to the desolate battleground. The hair on the back of Booker's neck stood at attention and he instantly drew his revolver and looked about, Elizabeth looked around and back at Booker with confusion written on her face.

"What is it? What's wrong?" She asked, somewhat frantic as she was as of yet still unaccustomed to Booker's eccentricities when it came to battle.

"We're being watched."

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**End Note: Booker has the Jockey, Elizabeth has some limits, and now they are one step closer to leaving Columbia for good…or so they think! Up next, a surprise visitor! **

**Thank you all again for continuing to read and follow along. I really do appreciate the feedback! Until next time, this is TheLifeLongEditor signing off!**


	14. Chapter 14: Harbinger

**Chapter 14: Harbinger**

**Author's Note: Well, well, well, here we are in the month of December...and on monday, so I do apologize for my tardiness. I hope everyone who celebrated had indeed enjoyed their holiday and for everyone else I hope you had a terrific week! If you haven't already, I made good on my promise to put something up on Thanksgiving Day and you can go and check it out if you want! Oh and before I forget, if you haven't already, check out GuiltyAdonis's **_**The Chosen and the Beloved**_**. He just recently updated and his story is amazing! **

**That beings said, here we are at Chapter 14, we'll be deviating just a little bit but here's hoping everyone likes the deviation, after all this story was build on being different…literally. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, it belongs to Ken Levine!**

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In the Marine Corps, DeWitt had been renowned for his observational skills regarding his surroundings, of course he had just chalked it all up to instincts but in the end the results spoke for themselves. Countless times, Booker's instincts had led him and his men successfully out of ambushes that they had no business of surviving in additional to planning strategic assaults and counter offensives that assisted in the many victories of the Legation Guard in their campaign across China as well as his other services across the orient. Elizabeth had no way of knowing this particular facet of Booker's life so when she questioned her companion's senses, he had to temper his frustrations as they had barely spent a full day together, much less years where they were forced to depend on each other's strengths and cover each other's weaknesses.

"Mister DeWitt, I don't see anything, are you sure…" Elizabeth trailed off as she continued to look about for the source of Booker's apparent paranoia.

"Oh I'm quite sure, in fact, I'd stake my life on it." Booker confirmed as he gazed up at the roof of the Hall of Heroes. At first it appeared as empty as could be, until the sun peered from behind the clouds and bathed its surface in a warm glow. At that moment, an all too familiar glint captured Booker's eye. The scope of a rifle, it was unmistakable.

"Elizabeth get—" Booker began to shout but his warning was all too quickly drowned out by the overwhelmingly powerful cry that emerged from the heavens. Its deafening roar rivaled the mighty horns that sounded when Booker had entered the code at the lighthouse just prior to his arrival. Elizabeth ducked as she flinched from the overbearing sound and swiftly brought her hands to her ears in a vain attempt to cushion its blow. Booker winced as he looked about and readied himself for another fight, his eyes went upward as he searched for the source of the inhuman scream.

The detective strained his eyes to make out any sort of activity from the heavens above—at first, nothing, but within moments a dark figure revealed itself. It daashed between the clouds before briefly disappearing and then reappearing with a swooping descent at a sharp angle, generating incredible speed and a wake amongst the clouds as they appeared to bend to the beings' will. Faster than any aerial craft than either had seen, the creature sped toward the sprawling courtyard and just prior to impact halted its momentum with a spread of its colossal leathery wings, which revealed an almost human like body covered in leathery armor; its hands and feet tipped with razor sharp metallic talons of an unknown composition. The mysterious creature's head was that of a large eagle or possibly a falcon complete with two colossal yellow eyes on either side, and a massive reinforced hose attached to the tip of the beak leading into the monster's chest cavity. The creature landed with a thud, causing the entirety of the area to shake under the mass and power of this flying monstrosity.

"What in God's name?" Booker muttered as he carefully with drew his Triple R. Here he had already come to believe that those monsters, Mothmen as Elizabeth had referred them, were the worst this city could throw at him, but this was a new kind of hell entirely. For starters the creature probably stood around fifteen to twenty feet tall at _least_, and if speed was comparable to power in any way, this gigantic bird would prove to be no push over. Booker quickly glanced over to his female companion whose normally serene complexion had turned and awful pale white and her demeanor from chipper innocence to sheer terror and resignation.

"Lord in heaven, it's him...He finally found me!" Elizabeth stammered as she started to back away, bringing a hand to her mouth out of nerves as Booker slowly stepped between his charge and the creature.

"We need to get out of here, now." Booker whispered as quietly as he could, but just loud enough for Elizabeth to catch and, evidently, the creature as well, as it whipped its head about and honed its attention upon them. Its metallic irises narrowed and the yellow light took on a menacing red hue, not unlike the Mothman that Booker had fought in that very courtyard. The creature lowered its head and began to make its way toward the quivering pair in a predatory manner.

"To the hell with this, Elizabeth get back to the station!" Booker ordered and unleashed a hail of gunfire upon the winged beast, targeting its head and upper torso for further damaging affect. Elizabeth hesitated but for a moment before the detective's words registered and pierced the fugue that the creature had created within her mind and she dashed toward the welcome center.

The bird lazily lifted a hand up as the bullets collided with its leathery exterior. It chirped with a curious tone, then it unleashed a screech of unbridled rage and swept its right wing in a solid downward motion toward its aggressor. Booker felt weightless as a powerful gust of wind generated from the aggressive action of the predator lifted him off his feet and tossed him through a set of doors and into a maintenance closet. The force of the impact was quite painful and Booker struggled briefly to rise to meet the creature head on but ultimately failed to even lift but a hand before he passed out.

Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the crash of a hard body colliding with solid wood. She turned and watched as the predator stalked its pray and approached broken barriers to complete its kill. There appeared to be no sign of activity from within and Elizabeth began to panic. Fear spread throughout her entire body, fear of facing her jailor, fear of losing Booker, fear of not making it out of Columbia. She knew she had to do something and swiveled about frantically in hopes of finding a solution. She had no weapons, no combat training, nothing that could assist her in this particular situation, she nearly gave up hope until she spotted a stack of storage crates and suddenly she got an idea.

The girl rushed over and retrieved the Skyhook that she had rested by the abandoned controls and powered deceptively light device and set to cutting the rope that kept the crates from falling haphazardly out of place. Elizabeth looked over at the predator once more and watched with terror as he reached out with his hand to grasp the detective inside the large structure, no doubt to strike the killing blow. At that moment, Elizabeth reached out with both arms and mustered as much concentration as possible given the situation and felt for that energy that she had used before, back when the others tried capturing her in the ticket booth for the First Lady. Only this time her goal wasn't lifting a suitcase or an empty trash bin, but several large and hefty storage crates. It was a far more difficult challenge than she initially anticipated as Elizabeth had very little practice with these powers much less so with moving large objects but for Booker's sake, failure was not an option. With a great upward motion of her arms, the crates shook and lifted slowly into the air at which point Elizabeth strained her face as she turned to face the bird once more.

"SONGBIRD! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Elizabeth screamed as she thrust her arms out toward the winged bird of prey and watched as the crates flew with incredible speed at her target, hitting with an uncanny precision. Elizabeth smiled as her plan had worked, albeit a little too well as her former 'warden' shook off the surprise and turned to face her, its eyes widened as it recognized its primary target and it began a pursuit course to capture its newfound prey. By this time Booker had regained consciousness and had just watched as several huge crates collided with the monster, giving him ample time to retrieve his weapon and shake off the lingering effects of being thrown violently through solid wood doors into a solid wall. He stepped over the bits of debris and brought the _Shock Jockey _to bear in his left hand.

"Hey, asshole! We're not done here!" Booker yelled and concentrated his energy into his crystalized hand reared his arm back. With a mighty yell he tossed the energy directly at the bird's helmeted head, the results of his efforts culminated into a powerfully charged crystal that ultimately collided and caused an explosion of unnatural blue light and wild arcs of electricity. The creature paused mid stride and brought its hand up to its face and began its violent attempts to brush away the source of electrical anguish.

"Huh, distracting, I'll take that over nothing" Booker muttered as he looked around anxiously. "Now I gotta find Elizabeth and get the hell out of here before the damn thing wisens up." No sooner did the words leave his mouth did Booker spot the object of his attention and frowned when he saw her state. The girl was slumped over the safety railing, blood trailing from her nose, her eyes half lidded as she fought to keep consciousness. Booker wasted no time on further futile assaults on the creature as he sprinted toward the girl and wrapped his large arm around her petite waist and pulled his own Skyhook from his rig and pulled the trigger as he leapt from the platform and flew up to meet with the magnetized rail. Together they sped across the rail, Booker's mind raced with questions centered around how such a creature could exist and who would have the means to build such a monstrosity. Of course, Booker soon began to realize that in the flying City of Columbia, anything was possible.

"Elizabeth, I need you to stay with me alright? Can you hear me? Elizabeth!?" Booker pled frantically as he looked around for any sight of the bird as they raced down the rails. He heard the girl murmur a barely conscious response and was about to call out once more when the alarming screech of the predator filled the air. Booker cast a look up to his left and watched as the bird flew in loops as it spotted its prey plotted its intercept course. Booker was at a loss, it wasn't as if he could turn around or run off and hide the both of them somewhere, they were on a fixed rail that was leading them to certain death or slightly less worse fate. Booker fixed his eyes ahead and spotted two individuals careening toward them with incredible speed on Skyhooks. Booker frowned with thought, _'just who the hell would be up here?'._

As Booker and Elizabeth approached the other pair, the detective's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the individuals as Robert and Rosalind Lutece; he could spot the two anywhere by their signature matching appearance and that fiery red hair. The pairs had nearly converged when Booker had noticed that Rosalind appeared to be making a downward motion with her free arm and Robert appeared to be shouting were on the precipice of passing one another when the detective could finally hear Robert's desperate pleas.

"DOWN! YOU NEED TO MOVE DOWN, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" The normally composed man shouted in the brief moment where the four crossed paths and swiftly continued on their paths. Booker turned his head to catch another glimpse of the strange duo, but they vanished seemingly into thin air. He shook his head and thought on Robert's words, _move down._

"No time like the present—ELIZABETH HOLD TIGHT!" Booker yelled as he release the hold of the Skyhook and went into a complete free-fall as he aimed downward and pulled the trigger and said a brief prayer to let his luck with the Lutece's help continue.

"Wha—WOAAAAH!" Elizabeth regained consciousness at the alarm in Booker's voice and screamed at their rapid decent, giving the focused detective a start which caused him to slacken his grip around the young woman's midsection ever so slightly, adding more to her anxiety as she screamed once more out of a very well placed fear of dying.

"EASY, EASY, I GOTCHYA!" Booker shouted over the rush of the wind as cemented his grip on the girl as she shifted looks between the clouds speeding toward them from below and the confident look on Booker's face as he aimed at a rapidly approaching skyrail.

"Where are we?" Elizabeth weakly asked as she fought to speak over the rush of air.

"No idea." Booker flippantly replied as they latched onto the new rail and proceeded ahead. "But it looks like we've lost that thing for the moment." Booker spoke, evidently a moment too soon, as the creature in question let out an angry shriek from above. Booker looked about and noticed the line they rode took them quite close to highrise mansion. Booker spied a window perfect for intrusion on their part but his timing would need to be perfect, and he needed Elizabeth's complete cooperation to pull it off.

"Elizabeth we can't out run the damn thing, but we can try to hide from it. I'm gonna get us in to that house up ahead but I need you to crawl up and hang on to my left side? You think you can do that?" He looked down and she looked off to the house he had referenced and back to him and gave an affirmative nod.

"Great, climb aboard and keep a tight hold, this is gonna be rough." Booker cautioned as Elizabeth lifted herself up and wrapped her arms around Booker's neck and watched him with a worried look.

"Booker, are you sure about this?" She asked timidly as they approached the house.

"Not one bit, but here goes nothin' right?" Booker answered honestly and winked at the nerve-wracked girl before swung himself, and her, off the rail and toward the rail-facing window and with a quick bit of manueverabilty, he managed to shift Elizabeth to his front and pushed his back to the glass barrier. His golden shield came to life on impact as glass and wood collided with clothe and flesh. With a loud crash, Booker sailed through the room all the while clutching Elizabeth tightly to his chest in an effort to prevent harm.

"Oh that smarts." Booker groaned, his shield managed to buffer most of the impact but that didn't mean he didn't get his fair share of pain and discomfort from his less than genius maneuver.

"Mister DeWitt, are you alright?" Elizabeth lifted herself and began to check her savior for any significant damage.

"S-shouldn't I be asking you the same? What with throwing crates of God knows what at the giant bird thing?" Booker stumbled through his words as he rubbed the back of his neck with hope that he could some how rid his body of the more recent aches and pains.

"Well what would you have me do, just leave you to—" Elizabeth paused and looked away, not having the courage to finish the thought. Booker leaned forward crossed his arms over his knees with a sigh, he wasn't mad at the girl per se but he was worried about her wanton use of her abilities without regard for her surroundings. He could sit here and give her a small lecture on being more observant, but something inside told him that this was neither the time nor the place.

"Listen, uh, thanks for uh that back there. Without you I probably wouldn't have uh…" Booker trailed off and watched Elizabeth blush at his bumbling gratitude.

"I'm just glad I could help." Elizabeth smiled as she stood and looked about the room. "When Songbird came after you, I knew I couldn't just abandon you, and I played to my strengths just as you play to yours." She said quietly but with a small sense of pride at proving to be of pivotal use in such a dire situation as she noted the utter disarray of the room. Drawers pulled out, dressers over turned, sheets ripped from the mattress, and all matter of belongings strewn about. It looked as if the place had either been ransacked or evacuated.

"Wait a second? Songbird? You know that thing?" Booker asked alarmed as he stood to his full height and crossed his arms in wait of an answer.

"Most Columbian's know him as the proverbial Boogeyman, I know him as my jailer…but he wasn't always so controlling." Elizabeth whispered as she reflected upon memories of old. Booker nearly asked her to elaborate but was interrupted by the shaking of the house to its very foundation as something rather large perched upon the roof above.

"Can't go five minutes without—" Booker muttered as he rubbed a hand through his hair as he looked about the room for a place to hide. "Under the bed, now." Booker whispered harshly as he grabbed Elizabeth's hand and drew her close as they both rushed beneath the large four-poster bedframe. Booker gave her a look that the young woman perfectly understood and did her best to acquiesce.

The spacious bedroom was bathed in a golden light as the leather helmet of the Songbird blocked the window. It's golden orb opened as wide as possible to take in every inch of the room. Carefully, the large flying monstrosity pushed its head through the busted window frame and began scanning the room for any sign of life, specifically the False Shepard and the Lamb. The creature only halted when its shoulders collided with the exterior walls of the house, causing the whole structure groan and shake under the immense pressure exerted by the flying creature.

Elizabeth quietly yelped out of fright as the Songbird thrashed in an attempt to further enter the room. Booker acted quickly and clamped one of his large hands over her mouth. The Songbird twitched and looked over in their direction. Elizabeth trembled as she could feel the creature slowly approach their prone position, all the while Booker carefully retrieved his Paddywhacker and silently prayed for a miracle.

"BOYS GET A LOAD OF THIS! LOOKS LIKE COMSTOCK'S LITTLE SONGBIRD'S COME TO PAY US A VISIT!" A voice echoed from down below, sounding as if it were on the streets looking above.

"LIGHT IT UP!" Another voice shouted and the familiar sound of machine gun fire and other heavy arms unloaded upon both the building and the creature as sounds of violence and war filled the once silent atmosphere. The Songbird twitched as it felt the firepower pepper its form and its inquisitive yellow eyes turned that same blood red from before and the winged creature retreated from the room and attacked its assailants down below with an aggressive cry. Booker motioned for Elizabeth to stay put as he sprung from their hiding place and approached the window, having drawn his Triple R and stood ready to engage if need be, but by the time he arrived the he could only watch with a small sense of dread as the mechanical bird carved a swath through various unknown soldiers, thinning their numbers swiftly with a single pass. Booker noted as the survivors attempted a retreat across numerous avenues and watched as the Songbird took flight to pursue them one by one, having been successfully taken off their scent.

"Psst...Elizabeth, you can come out now. Looks like we caught a lucky break though I don't think I can say the same for our _friends _on the street." Booker finished quietly as he slung the rifle back around and turned to watch as Elizabeth crawled out from beneath the bed and straightened her skirts.

"Let's just make our way back to the First Lady and be rid of this place entirely, I don't wish to stay a moment longer." Elizabeth declared with an unsteady voice as she folded her arms across her chest and cast a look off to the side. Booker could tell she had been unsettled by this most recent encounter but it wasn't as if he could say anything to comfort her, he had been pretty unsettled himself by the power and dedication of that abomination. So he did the only thing he could, kept a stiff upper lip as the brits used to say and carried on with renewed gusto.

"That's fine by me. Let's get out of here. With any luck we might be able to find a way back up to Soldier's field." Booker offered and followed Elizabeth as she exited the room. Both made their way through the house and finally out onto the street where they noticed the entire area looked like an abandoned warzone. Bullet holes riddled walls, windows, all manner of transportation on the street. There were a few bodies cast about the streets; some of them were counted among Columbia's Finest and the others bore markings similar to the survivors that lead the Songbird away, markings the likes of which Booker had never seen before in all his time in the service.

"Looks like we missed some kinda big fire-fight. You recognize any of these ones in red?" Booker asked as he knelt down to examine the stranger further. His face was covered in dirt and grime; he had the face of a man who had spent the better part of his life working hard in unyielding gaze of the sun.

"No, I've never seen them before in my life. But, then again, that's not saying much, is it?" Elizabeth answered darkly and Booker looked up apologetically. It was easy to forget that she was almost as much in the dark as he was concerning Columbia's recent affairs.

"Well, I ain't sure if these new guys are friends or foes, but I ain't stickin' around to find out. We got an airship to catch." Booker concluded as he stood back up right and looked around the area. Aside from the occasional spark from the automatic equestrians that had been felled in the battle, there was no sign of any activity.

"Mister DeWitt—" Elizabeth began.

"It's Booker."

"Right, I'll be sure to attend to that distinction as soon as there's a moment when we're not being chased, shot at, or assaulted by all manner of Columbia's forces, _Booker._" Elizabeth finished as she shot a light scowl at the detective who shrugged.

"I'm sorry for interruptin', what was it you were saying?" Booker lightly apologized and Elizabeth rolled her eyes with a huff, muttering something about men beneath her breath.

"I was trying to inform you that I might have found a rather convenient means to return to Soldier's Field." The young woman clarified and waved her arm for the former veteran to head in her direction, an order which he quickly complied and crossed the street to stand at her side.

"A rail cart, well, let's see if the damned thing works. With our luck it'll probably drop us into Comstock's lap." Booker spoke grimly as he made for the Columbian rail vehicle.

"Then let us pray that an even _higher _authority is watching over us on this day." Elizabeth said just above a whisper and loud enough for the detective to catch as she took after the sprinting man. It appeared that Elizabeth's prayer must have had some affect on their situation as Booker found the cart in perfect working condition, he surmised this must have been how Columbia's soldiers or perhaps the others had managed to get their men to this area so quickly. With a pull of the lever, the pair made their way across the rails and each second brought them closer to their desired goal.

* * *

The cart moved at an incredible speed without sacrificing comfort or safety and before long Booker and Elizabeth found themselves back at the lower level of the Hall of Heroes entry center, aside from the various bodies left behind by the fire-fight between Booker and Columbia's finest, there appeared to be no sign of any activity whatsoever. Booker rubbed his jaw in thought, he had been expecting reinforcements of some variety once their commander failed to check back in with his superiors, evidently the troops must have had their hands full with Slate and his men. Booker's mind drifted back to Slate, the more he thought about the aging war monger, the more he doubted his decision back in the museum.

"Is something the matter?" A soft voice broke him free of his self-doubt.

"What? Oh sorry, just, thinkin' s'all." Booker muttered as he departed the craft and made his way up the stairs.

"Eagle for your thoughts?" Elizabeth flipped a coin in the direction half in jest and half in sincere hope that she could gain a deeper insight in to the man that captivated her interest and generated such strange and delightful feelings. Booker reached out with his bandaged hand and deftly snatched the spinning metal mid-air.

"I guess I was thinkin' 'bout how there's not a single soldier or police around here." Booker looked about cautiously, something didn't quite feel right. The last time he felt anything remotely similar was back in the orient and he walked straight into a deadly ambush.

"Perhaps they were preoccupied with Colonel Slate? Or perhaps when they saw Songbird they got over confident and decided to allow him to do their work for them?" Elizabeth offered in hopes of mutually finding a sound solution to this quandary. She had been a little disappointing that there wasn't a topic of deeper conversation but at the very least she was being helpful. Booker merely hummed in response as he withdrew the Triple R and cocked the rifle as they re-entered the ticketing hall for the Hall of Heroes, the lack of any sort of noise bugged the detective something fierce.

"_We hold these truths to be self evident!" _The recorded voice of a patriot sprung to life as a combination of steam and grinding of gears alerted the former veteran to a potentially dangerous situation unfolding before them.

"Elizabeth, to cover!" Booker barked as he noticed the shocked girl standing out in the open, surprised at the sudden mechanical motion. Booker wasted no time and shoved her behind one of the statues of soldiers and kept a fist full of Shock Jockey ready for when the machination stepped around the corner.

The detective didn't have to wait long as the automaton rounded the corner and opened fire upon his position. A hail of machine gun fire riddle the floors, walls, metal shudders, and even found their way to Booker's shield and brought the golden barrier to life. He knew the shield wouldn't last forever and so the detective cast his hand out in the Patriot's direction and fired a powerful bolt of _Shock Jockey._ The patriot buzzed and whirled as electricity coursed through its metallic frame; the power of the vigor cast a blue aura over the machine. Booker took aim and pulled heavy against the trigger, unleashing the full potential of the Triple R upon the paralyzed Patriot.

"_R-Reap w-w-what yo-you sow!" _The motorized patriot spat between shocks and Booker continued firing into its form, bullets tearing through its outer façade as they revealed the machine within. As Booker emptied the last of his clip, he reached behind and reloaded ready to fire again when he noticed the giant war machine wobble and fall backward with a small internal explosion, which indicated the infernal contraption had been destroyed. The veteran dashed ahead and checked out the other displays which appeared to be inactive, he took a deeper look at the one he managed to dispatch and noticed signs of a previous fire fight this machine had been engaged. It was any wonder that this one had been dispatched with greater ease than the other, it looked as if it had already gone through hell and back and decided to keep going.

"Elizabeth! C'mon out now, looks like this was the only one." Booker called for the young woman who slowly arose from her spot of relative safely and crossed the hall without any delay and came to a brisk halt as Booker punched the button to open the doors and both stepped into the elevator. Booker pushed the button to engage the lift and with a short jerk, they began to ascend. The detective leaned back with his arms crossed on one side of the cart as Elizabeth absent-mindedly brushed her ponytail on the otherside.

"Hey, uh, Elizabeth. Mind if I ask you a question, if it ain't too personal?" Booker started with an awkward cough which brought the young woman out of her fretful thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, yes, by all means, I'll answer to the best of my ability." She nodded with a smile.

"Those uh, things, the _tears,_ I don't think I quite understand just how you…well…I guess I just don't understand how." Booker finished rather lamely in his estimation, but Elizabeth didn't seem to mind as her brows furrowed in thought as she collected her thoughts on how best to approach the subject.

"To me, I've always viewed them as doors more than anything else." Elizabeth began slowly and methodically, each word carefully measured so as not to convey any errant information.

"Doors? How's that?" Booker asked and Elizabeth continued.

"You see, when I was younger I didn't just open doors, _tears, _that I found…I actually remember making them."

"…making them? I thought you said that wasn't possible?" Booker asked as the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened with the slightest ring of a bell. Elizabeth continued their conversation as they stepped out.

"Back then I could just throw my hands out and open them, I could go wherever I pleased…" Elizabeth smiled at the thought before she frowned with internal dismay. "…but for some reason, something always told me to come back."

"You mean like Comstock?" Booker asked genuinely concerned if the mad prophet might have had some extra hold on the girl.

"No, it was a voice, it was more of a force or a feeling, I felt drawn to come back, as if I wasn't meant to leave…and I guess I always wanted to come back." She trailed off and nodded subtly as she chewed her lower lip. A brief wind blew by and gaze Elizabeth a shudder and brought her back to reality, at which point she turned to give her confused companion a shrug and a smile. "Besides, if you though my nosebleeds were bad, they had _nothing _on what I used to get my for my tear troubles."

"I guess I have to take your word for that one…but if you could go anywhere in the world why would you _want _to come back." Booker asked at the risk of being too forward, but once more Elizabeth didn't' seem to take offense as she shrugged.

"I don't know, perhaps it was the thought that somewhere, out there, my _real _family might be looking for me."

"Huh," Booker paused, one the one hand he would have wanted to be as far away from that tower as possible if he were her, but he knew when it came to family he would do whatever it took for them, he figured Elizabeth would have been the same if given the chance. "So, do you know how you do it then? Like the whole _tear _thing?"

"I had _plenty _of time to read in my tower, and do you know what I managed to come up with?" Elizabeth offered and Booker shook his head. "Well I tried to figure it out and—" She trailed off.

"And what did you find?" He asked very much intrigued as they made their way up to the transit station to the First Lady Aerodrome.

"I read a lot of literature on physics and other such things, and all I could come up with was that there's a world of difference between what we see and what is…"

"Doesn't sound like much in the way of progress, if you'll pardon my saying so." Booker answered honestly as he cast a bolt of Shock Jockey into the machine, breathing life into the controls once more.

"I cannot take offense at the truth, it's not as if this is a common phenomenon for scientific study." Elizabeth fidgeted with her hands as Booker took hold of the lever and gave it a solid yank to summon the Gondola.

"Who knows, maybe when we get back stateside, we can get you some journals or somethin' to help you figure it all out." Elizabeth smiled at the prospect, she was always under the impression that Columbia was on the cutting edge of all scientific advancement but that didn't necessarily preclude the possibility of other innovative minds on the surface researching situations very similar to hers, or at the very least, theoretical simulations. Just then, an alert very similar to what they had heard in Monument Tower sounded.

"_**He will abandon you my sweet Elizabeth! I assure you that once he has what he needs, he will discard and abandon you with haste. What else could you expect from a liar and killer of women and children!" **_The prophet raged throughout his amplified speaker system.

"Comstock…" Booker muttered in disgust as he felt his heart stop at the mans insinuation. Booker doubted the prophet had meant to garner the reaction from him that he did, how could he know his past, but it didn't change the fact that he struck a very deep chord in his attempt to pain him a bad light. Of course, the detective had to admit to himself that it didn't take much for anyone to see what kind of man he truly was at the end of the day.

"Father!" Elizabeth began shakily and tilted her head as if to try to come to terms with the words as she spoke them before turning her attention back up to the sky. "Prophet…whomever you are, I am leaving and there's naught you can do to stop me!" Elizabeth declared with a firm sweep of her right hand as she kept her left clench up in a fist close to her chest.

"_**Oh my sweet, dear Elizabeth…that's where you're wrong!" **_The Prophet ended darkly and cut speaker system off and at that moment two heavily armed troop-carrying crafts arose from the clouds below and began traversing the airspace toward them. There was a sudden flash of light from the deck of the furthest craft which caught both of their attention and Elizabeth lightly leaned forward and brought a hand to her forehead to better shield her view from the sun and get a better look at what just occurred. Her eyes widened in surprise as she turned frantically to the detective.

"Booker! Rockets!" She exclaimed and the detective grabbed her hand pulled the lady close as he leapt away from his position to the furthest side of the platform, barely avoiding the collision of the rocket and flooring as a violent explosion shook the ground around them.

"Just say the word and I'll help however I can!" Elizabeth said with a confident nod and Booker nodded with his own thanks as he watched the craft approach the platform and line up. He furrowed his brow and noticed the miniature freight hooks adorning the bows of the craft and then back to the skyrails just above his head and at that moment the Pinkerton formulated a rather unorthodox idea as he grinned to himself.

"Elizabeth, just sit tight, I think I can take care of this in pretty short order." The detective said as he withdrew his skyhook and brought the machine to life.

"What are you planning?" She looked between him and the Skyhook puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

"Something pretty stupid, I reckon. Now if you'll excuse me." He excused himself as he launched from the ground at the Skyrail and grinded up and across the metallic railway. As he rounded the corner of the platform, he watched as the flying craft drew closer and the detective artfully drew his Triple R from around his back and readied himself. Booker could feel the magnetic pull toward the nearest hook and he was reasonably confident that he could make the jump onto the deck.

"There he is men, Fire!" He heard one yell followed by the all-too-familiar sound of gunfire. Booker turned and gave a select couple of pulls of the trigger and launched himself at the nearest hook and latched on with a powerful jolt which caused the craft to rock slightly as the men stood slack jawed at the False Shepard's brazen strategy.

"Howdy!" Booker calmly said with a smile as he dropped down and pressed the trigger completely and smiled as he unleashed a volley of lead death upon his aggressors. He managed to catch enough of them off guard so aim wasn't a necessary feature of his plan. Booker hadn't planned on the rocket trooper off to the side to come upon him brandishing the weapon like a club and, on instinct, the detective lashed out with his Skyhook giving the man a hard hammer to the gut. The trooper stumbled back wildly, so much so, that the rocking motion of the aerial craft led him to tumble off the side and to a prolonged demise.

"That went well…and now for—" Booker muttered to himself as he dove for cover, catching the flare of an oncoming heavy projectile heading for his craft. The explosion rocked the aerial vehicle and groaning of malfunctioning machinery informed DeWitt that he had very little time before the vessel fell from the sky. He slung spent rifle around his shoulder and drew the Mauser from his hip, he aimed his skyhook at the secondary craft and took flight toward his next group of assailants.

"Send the bastard straight to hell!" He heard one cry as he attempted to shoot Booker out the sky.

"For the Prophet! For Columbia!" He heard others echo with similar sentiment as he rushed toward the aerial craft and latched onto the hook. The Pinkerton immediately set down and felt his shield come about as the golden barrier deflected the various arms fire from the troopers sent to end his life. The Pinkerton quickly put his Skyhook away as he opened fire with the mouser and summoned a ball of Devil's Kiss and tossed it at their feet. The soldier closest to the impact was struck down while two others where engulfed in flames. The detective was reloading when he heard the Rocket Trooper fire his weapon.

"You'll never take our Lamb, False Shepard!" He shouted bravely from behind his heavy armor and rocket rifle as he fired directly into the detective's center. Under any normal circumstances this would have spelt certain doom for Booker DeWitt, but things being what they were the shield gifted to the detective by Robert and Rosalind Lutece managed to buffer a significant portion of the explosive potential of the weapon. This, however, did not stop the force of impact from tossing the detective to the other end of the vessel as his shield cracked and fell from the intensity of the weapons power.

"No, no way. That's impossible!" The Rocket Trooper stared on in horror as he watched the detective all but shrug off the intense fire power of his rifle. DeWitt, for his part, coughed profusely as the feeling of getting the wind knocked out of his lungs slowly subsided. He felt an intense stinging sensation emanating from the center of his chest growing lighter as it spread outward. He was certain to have a bruise, at the very least; a penance for his inability to dodge the weapon but it was better than the alternative. Booker wavered lightly as he stood and watched as the nervous trooper attempted to reload his weapon, Booker never gave him the chance to finish as he drew his Paddywhacker and hammered a full chamber into the frightened man's torso and dropped him where he stood.

"Good 'cough' 'cough' God, that hurts. DeWitt, you better count your lucky stars." He spoke hoarsely to none but himself as he reloaded the spent revolver and retrieved his Mauser from the deck. As he approached the edge he noticed three other aerial craft approaching and quickly with drew his rifle, and retrieved a few clips from the fallen soldiers. He judged the distance between the craft and the curvature of the Skyrail nearest him and deemed it close enough to traverse. Booker took a several staps back to the point where he stood just inches away from the opposite edge the craft and darted forward with incredible speed, bringing his Skyhook to full operational order once more, and deftly aimed for the magnetized rails.

In seconds, the Pinkerton agent was once again riding the rail circuit that wormed its way through Soldier's Field. Looking ahead he noticed several of Columbia's finest and down below he noticed a large group of soldier's encroaching upon Elizabeth's position. He watched as she nervously looked up at him then back at the soldier's attempting to secure her capture and saw with wonder as she turned to her side and reached out with her hand as she'd done before.

"Ugh!" He heard her grunt with effort as her outstretched hand appeared to have found and taken hold of something and the detective rode amazed as he watched her open a tear and pull through a Motorized Patriot. Elizabeth wavered as she brought a hand to her face and slumped back into cover, allowing for her newfound mechanical companion to complete its task.

"_Rejoice! For death has no sting!" _The machine cried out as it charged the soldiers and opened fire with its Crank Gun. Unfettered by fear of death or damage, the automaton was a brute force to be reckoned with as he thinned several of their numbers before the soldiers could retreat to a safer position and trade rounds with the clockwork man.

"That'll buy me some time." The detective muttered as he increased his speed down the rails. He watched as several more soldiers leapt down from his rail and began to reinforce their besieged comrades. One of the soldiers reversed course and headed directly in his direction. Booker deftly tossed his rifle up and caught it by the frame as he drew close.

"You're going back to hell, False Shepard!" He cried as he prepared to draw his pistol and slowed his own Skyhook down to acquire a better aim, but Booker had counted on such a maneuver and sped up even further.

"Not by your hand,, you bastard!" Booker grit through his teeth as reached out and bashed the soldier across his head and torso, with so much force as to knock him clean off the rail where he then fell to the deck, dead from the height and angle of the fall. Booker didn't have time to take watch as he acquired a stead handle of his machine gun once more and opened fire upon the troops down below, taking down several as he drew them out of cover and their aim, long enough for the heavily damaged Patriot to reacquire its targets and open fire once more.

DeWitt aimed ahead and fired upon the few soldier's remaining on the rails, short bursts of hot lead into each one lead to their downfall, quite literally in this regard. In any other situation, Booker might have chuckled at the irony but now was no such time. Booker descended from the rail back onto solid ground with a light grunt as he pulled the emptied clip from his piping hot rifle and replaced it with a brand new one and joined Elizabeth by her side as the Motorized Patriot fell to its knees.

"_F-f-f-for Fai-fai-faith." _The machine sputtered as its internal mechanisms gave way to the overwhelming damage suffered at the hands of its human counterparts and the pair watched as it fell front first to the ground with a thud. Booker continued from where the Patriot had left off and picked off the remaining soldier's with little effort, owing much to the fallen machine.

"All right, that looks to be the last of them. You alright?" Booker asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his bandaged hand.

"I should be the one asking you! I saw what happened on the gunship, how did you survive?" Elizabeth exclaimed with worry as she wiped the remnants of blood from her nose and wiped her hand with a spare clothe she had acquired from their stay in the hotel. She could have very easily used the handkerchief that Booker had given her, but for some reason she felt the strongest urge to keep it safe and unsullied as possible.

"Honestly?" Booker asked and Elizabeth nodded energetically. "Not a clue, one minute I'm standing up right, next thing I know I've got a chest fulla' fire, I'm flat on my ass, and I've got the wind knocked out of me…and this intense pain radiating from my chest."

"Goodness, it's a wonder you weren't blown to pieces!" She exclaimed with a slight amount of panic in her voice before calming back down at the fact that he stood alive and breathing before her. "That shield must have taken the brunt of the blast, you best not tempt fate a second time. Heaven knows whether or not that was a fluke." Elizabeth concluded worriedly as thoughts of Bookers demise flooded her mind. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head.

"I wasn't exactly lookin' to see if I could take a rocket to the face, so you don't have to worry about a repeat performance." Booker chuckled trying to lighten her spirits as he turned to watch for the gondola through the thick fog that had formed sometime between their early departure this morning and their return to Soldier's Field. Booker caught a glimpse of something and strained his eyes further to verify if what his eyes told him was indeed accurate. Elizabeth was about to say something in response when she noticed her savior's hand light up with the familiar blue glow of Shock Jockey.

"What is it? What do you see?" She asked quietly, a tinge of thoughtful concern laced her normally composed tone.

"Looks like Comstock sent us one last parting gift. A Patriot." Booker muttered in return as he swiftly made his way back down the steps and began to rifle through the dead soldier's belongings looking for any spare ammo. He managed to acquire enough for one additional clip, he hoped it would be enough. By the time he turned and made to approach the platform, he heard the call of the Motorized Patriot.

"_For the prophet!" _It cried out as it set forth on to the platform and turned to face its objective. As it began to crank its heavy machine gun, Booker took to the rails and charged up crystal of Shock Jockey. The clockwork war machine aimed high and began to unleash a volley at the Pinkerton, the latter of whom barely dodged the molten hot led as he rounded the corner and flung the crystal directly into the torso of the Patriot. The crystal exploded on impact and one large blue crystal formed on the Patriots torso and two others formed on the platform on either side, creating a full circuit of electricity which kept the automaton paralyzed in an aura of blue.

"Perfect." Booker gasped as the vigor had taken a little more out of him than expected, but he shook off the feelings of exhaustion as he threw himself down behind the stricken Patriot and opened fire upon his exposed gears as Elizabeth had pointed out at the Hall of Heroes. The Triple R heated up to a scalding hot red as steam poured from the barrel. Booker quickly discarded the clip as he emptied it into the Patriots back and began to reload. In the meantime the severely damaged Patriot managed to break free from the snare of Shock Jockey and slowly turned to face the Pinkerton and began to open fire.

"_For the Col-u-umbi-bi-bi-a!" _It's voice box sputtered as small fires burst out from the inward machinery behind the patriotic façade. Booker ducked and rolled from the initial onslaught and soon traded fire with the Patriot and felt the machine's bullets pepper his shield, leaving welts in their wake. Booker was beginning to doubt he could make it as he felt the shield nearly give way, yet just before the barrier fell the motorized Patriot dropped do a knee and exploded sending gears and pistons flying all around. Evidently the vigor managed to not only keep the machine at bay but deliver enough damage to see him through the fray.

"Booker!" He heard her beautiful voice cry out behind the smoke. "Are you alright!"

"I'm fine, just need to catch my breath." Booker stammered as he leaned back along the rail of the Gondola and tossed the overheated and emptied rifle to the ground, he figured he wouldn't need such a weapon where they were going and there was no sense carrying about an empty firearm. Elizabeth stepped around the smoldering ruins of the war machine and flew to his ailing side and checked him over.

"Perhaps you're pushing yourself just a _little _too hard, Booker. You could have died back there." She lightly chastised as she observed the welts beginning to form along his arms and neck.

"Only very nearly. But as you can see, I'm in tip top shape." He tried to assure her only to wince as she checked his shoulder. "Okay, mostly tip-top shape."

"_Very nearly, _if you die where does that leave me?" Elizabeth challenged as she crossed her arms.

"Better off." He muttered looking down at the ground. He heard a grunt of disapproval and held up his arms to prevent another argument before it started. "I'll be more careful, I promise. Besides, all we got to do now is ride this baby off to the aerodrome and its goodbye Columbia and hello New York…" He groaned as he stepped away from the rail, having gathered his strength and led the worried young woman over to the control room.

"And after that?" She asked as they stepped into the room and watched as Booker pulled the lever and engaged the Gondola.

"After that, well, wherever you want I figure." Booker answered honestly and watched as a wide smile graced her beautiful face. In fact the more he stared at her, the more he realized he that she stirred something within, something that he hadn't felt in a little over a decade now. Of course she was beautiful, any idiot could see that. From her gorgeous blue eyes, to that soft rounded face, to that lithe yet perfectly curvacious body, she was everyman's dream. But for Booker, it was more than that, she was was smart as she was beautiful, which was a dangerous combination. She had a naivety about her, but she also had an appreciation for everything that transcended inexperience, truly for Booker DeWitt, Elizabeth was the ideal woman...and that scared him.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Elizabeth called out to him as she noticed he was staring at her. Booker fought to hide a blush of embarrassment as he coughed and looked back ahead.

"No, no, I was just uh, thinkin' is all, forget about it." He muttered as Elizabeth cocked a brow with a smirk. Her mind turned back to a pressing thought that had been rolling around in her head since they escaped the tower and thought that now might be a suitable time to bring it up.

"Hey Booker, can I ask you something?" She inquired lightly as she still attempted to muster the courage to go along with this line of thought.

"Course, go for it." Booker said absent-mindedly.

"W-when you were unconscious on the beach, you kept repeating a woman's name, _Annabelle." _She said quietly but with curiosity in her tone. Booker felt his heart nearly stop at the mention of _her _name. He gripped the lever tightly in his hand and clenched his eyes shut as he struggled with all his might to will away the memories of old.

"I…I don't…I don't want to talk about that, if you don't mind." Booker said darkly, struggling with the feelings coursing through him. On instinct he wished to lash out at the mention of Annabelle, but the rational side of him knew she had no idea and as such didn't deserve his wrath.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought she was perhaps your wife or—" Elizabeth began to apologize but was interrupted by the detective.

"No she would have been—but it couldn't be, then she died." Booker revealed, internally kicking himself as he did so, this wasn't a line of inquiry he wished to continue and here he was practically spilling his guts when compared to what he told others.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, how did she die?" Elizabeth asked as she approached the detective, she watched as tears formed in his eyes. He wanted to tell her she was being too forward, that she had no business asking such personal questions. He wanted to push her as far away as fast as possible, but that small voice within managed to take the reigns and answered for him.

"…giving birth..." He replied quietly as he turned away from the girl. He had never spoke that aloud to anyone in his life, not his family, not his comrades, not even to his Uncle.

"You...you have a child?" Elizabeth asked slightly reeling from these small but powerful revelations, not quite certain what to make of the situation or the feelings that swelled within her chest.

"…no…" Booker felt a tear slip down his cheek, a single solitary tear for the child that died thousands of miles away while he was out killing strangers in that strange land. He had never allowed himself to properly grieve, perhaps deep down he knew he could never face it the moment he read the letter, so he buried it behind duty and rage, and now he would bury it again. Booker froze as he felt two small arms draw around his frame and he felt Elizabeth press her body to his back and rest her head upon him.

"Mister DeWitt…Booker…if you ever wish to speak of it, I'm here." She spoke softly, her voice filled with heart-warming compassion. It took all of the strength in Booker's body not to break down into a fit of sorrow and anguish, but he couldn't bring himself to fall apart and unleash his troubles upon a woman he just met. Luckily, fate gave him a way out in the form of their arrival onto the docking platform of the First Lady Aerodrome.

"This is our stop. C'mon, let's get out of here and put as much distance between us and Columbia, whaddya say?" Booker asked as he turned around in her arms and offered her a thin smile. Elizabeth cast a sorrowful look into his eyes as she could see the troubled man before her hide years of self-loathing, fear, anger, and loneliness behind a veneer of confidence. She pulled him in for brief tight hug and smiled.

"I can think of nothing more pleasant than that right now." Elizabeth spoke honestly as she grabbed the detective's bandaged hand and dragged him outside and across the platform inside the ticketing station. The whole of the area was abandoned, clearly evacuated either some point in the middle of the night or that morning as they had made their way to the Hall of Heroes, to them it just meant fewer obstacles in their path. Elizabeth lead the way up the dual staircase and Booker pressed the button which opened the elevator doors. Once inside, Booker pressed the activation button and the lift began to move.

Elizabeth gave a slight squeal of excitement as she twirled around, her life long dream was soon to be a reality and she could hardly contain her excitement; Booker just smiled at the display of genuine happiness. As she came to a halt she realized what she had done and blushed as Booker lightly laughed and shook his head. The young woman looked about the propaganda posters and addressed her protector once more.

"So, it looks like they call you the _False Shepard._" She charged, her tone filled with mirth as she gave a sly grin.

"Yeah, and I hear tell they call you the _Lamb of Columbia_, fancy that." Booker responded with equal mirth and a grin of his own as Elizabeth playfully frowned in dismay at the title.

"How about we _don't _call each other that." Elizabeth declared with a light chortle.

"Hey, suits me just fine." He crossed his arms and leaned against the opposite wall.

"You know, something's been bothering me." Elizabeth spoke once more as she crooked her jaw.

"Oh, what's that?" He asked with interest.

"How do you figure they'd know _you _specifically would be coming for me?" She clarified and Booker stopped as he thought upon his next words. It was a damn good question, admittedly when he saw the poster's yesterday it was a tad concerning but when the prophet referred to him specifically by name, that was damn uncanny.

"Well, the way I see it, either they've got a prophet on their side—" He started and shot Elizabeth sardonic look.

"Har Har." She chided as she rolled her eyes at the detectives terrible attempt at humor.

"Or someone back in New York ratted me out. For what purpose, that's beyond me." Booker finished with as much insight into the situation as he could provide as he brought his bandaged hand into view and gave it a once over. Truth be told, for as much as he prided himself in his detective work, there were too many unknowns for his liking and too many coincidences for them all to be chalked up to random chance. The doors opened and the First Lady Airship stationary and awaiting further instruction.

"This is like a dream come true! Well don't just stand there Mister DeWitt, let's go!" Elizabeth called out as she raced into the dirigible. Booker sighed and followed her inside and found himself taken aback at the posh interior. Bookcases lined with expansive tomes, ornate wooden desks, and expensive furnishings lined the interior of the craft; definitely more-than-suitable for one such as Lady Comstock. Booker stepped forward and tilted his head to the side, there on the desk top sat another vial of that Lutece Infusion that he was given just before he began this whole mission. Beside it there was an envelope addressed to him, he picked up the small piece of parchment, opened it up and began to read.

"_Mister DeWitt, you will need this for what lies ahead. Take note we have refined the process so the experience will not debilitate you in any way. By the way, sorry about your head._

_Robert." _

"How'd they? My head? You know what, I'll just go mad trying to figure it out." He muttered as he uncorked the class vial and downed the contents. It tasted less bitter this time around and the effects weren't as painful either, he felt his shield come alive briefly before it vanished and he felt a brief tingle through his veins before that too faded. A slight dizziness came about him and he stumbled lightly before leaning on the desk as the world spun.

"Mister DeWitt, is something the matter? Perhaps you need to lie down." Elizabeth came to his side and began to heft him over her shoulder until he gave a violent shake of his head and stood up straight.

"No, no, I'm fine, I just got a little dizzy for a second." He explained as Elizabeth made an "o" with her mouth signifying her comprehension. "Okay, let's get this ritzy balloon moving!" He clapped his hands together, rubbed them vigorously, and approached the flight controls and began moving the levers to enter the appropriate coordinates.

"Aaaand…there. Forty degrees north by seventy-four degrees west." The coordinates were locked in and the dirigible's engines fired up and the craft departed the station.

"I can't believe it, this is actually happening. Thank you! Thank you so much, Booker!" Elizabeth jumped in place as she leaned on the control panel. "I want to see Paris, I want to see _everything_." She declared excitedly as the craft maneuvered itself on course.

"Once we take care of business in New York, you can see all there's to be seen." Booker said as he looked out onto the horizon as the craft rose above the clouds and fog.

"You know Booker, I meant what I said the other day." Elizabeth began happily as the man in question furrowed his brow and looked at her puzzled.

"When I said I wanted to travel the world with you I meant it." Elizabeth said with a light pink hue painting her cheeks. Booker was flattered to say the least, he had chalked up the whole exchange as a heat of the moment sort of ordeal, but it appeared as if she was deadest on the idea and, if he were being honest with himself, it wasn't exactly unappealing by any stretch.

"Tell you what Elizabeth, if you _still_ feel the same way by the time we get you to New York to see those two, I'll look into what sort of time I can take and I'll travel with you. I won't promise anything, but I'll do my best." He responded and Elizabeth's smile grew even wider as a twinkle of joy filled her eyes. An all too familiar feeling filled Booker's gut as he looked at the beautiful girl, he'd only felt the feeling truly once before and while part of him was curious as to where it might lead, a bigger part was afraid of repeating the mistakes of his past.

Elizabeth was about to say something when her face turned to an expression of horror. She reached out to warn the detective but it was too late as he felt a rather heavy blunt object collide with the back of his skull, sending him to the ground, his vision spotty and blurred, and his frame heavy. He turned up to see his assailant raise a scoped rifle with a grin.

"Preston Downes _always _gets his man!" The intruder exclaimed as he brought the rifle down upon Booker's head once more. Elizabeth calling out to him was the last voice he heard before the darkness and pain consumed him.

* * *

**Endnote: Here we are, I do apologize if this chapter seemed a bit all over the place at times, I've been a little scrambled lately but I didn't want you guys to suffer…I just hope this doesn't suffer for it. **

**So it looks like Booker and Elizabeth won't be leaving Columbia anytime soon. Up next we are introduced to Daisy Fitzroy, we learn more of Preston Downes, and our heroes find themselves on a new mission with new dangers waiting in store. **

**Thank you all for your amazing reviews and continuing to read, your support really does make this worth it. I hope you continue to enjoy and until next time…this is TheLifeLongEditor, signing off!**


	15. Chapter 15: You Take The High Road

**Chapter 15: You Take The High Road**

**Author's Note: WOW, I am SO sorry this is so late. This week has been crazy as far as things go, but that's the holidays right. Heck, we only have a week until Christmas Eve! That being said I will be working on the next chapter tonight and will **_**hopefully **_**have it up by Sunday. I am also going to try to work on and post a Christmas Theme story following in the same vein as my Thanksgiving one and have that one up by Christmas Eve. Also there will be a little bit of Christmas joy in the next chapter just to mark the occasion. **

**In any event, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I know it's a little shorter than expected but I feel it gets the job done. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, that's Ken Levine's pleasure, I'm just borrowing.**

* * *

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST THEM!" Comstock raged in a fitful fury as he stood abruptly from his leather chair and brought a heavy fist down upon his highly ornate desk which caused several trinkets and pens to swivel and shake with the force of the impact. General Hart had the gross misfortune of having to personally deliver the terrible news, though his honor and integrity would demand nothing less.

"Sir if you would let me explain…" Hart began but was brusquely interrupted as the Prophet rounded the desk and stood before the military commander. In that moment Hart couldn't have been certain whether it was anxiety or the stair of the prophet, but he would have bet his life that the room had actually grown hotter as the Prophets anger raged on.

"Yes, by all means Hart, do explain how you managed to lose _both _the False Shepard and The Lamb when you had them within your grasp!" The bearded leader spat the last word with vitriol as he dared his chief military officer to offer anything to justify such a monumental blunder. "Tell me how my CHIEF MILITARY OFFICER managed such a foul up!"

"Sir, with respect, as I told you we would have captured them had it not been for the intervention of the Songbird-" Hart began with an uncharacteristic gulp as the heat of the room increased further, he was certain it couldn't have been in his head.

"You dare blame the guardian of the Lamb for YOUR mistake?" The Prophet screamed in disbelief.

"No, of course not sir, but that did divert my men from their original course to the recently occupied Vox territory surrounding the Hall of Heroes." Hart argued back which did little to still the Prophets ire.

"I swear Hart, if you're making excuses for your own incompetence I will…" The Prophet threatened but the Hart interjected before the older man could finish his thought.

"Sir after all of these years you should know I have _never _made excuses, only delivered results. Now then, as I was saying, we encountered heavy Vox resistance in their area, which we managed to secure but only after spreading our forces throughout the area, which severely limited our ability to respond. I had very little men I could direct in time to Soldier's Field…evidently it wasn't enough, the False Shepard is a cunning and quite powerful adversary. I must admit I may have underestimated his abilities." Hart observed more for his own sake than the Prophet's who by this point had returned to his chair and sat back down with a sigh, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Hart, I am well aware of your efforts as well as I am aware of the danger that the False Shepard poses to both our Lamb and the future of Columbia. I'm sorry for my outburst." The Prophet apologized sincerely which the chief military officer of Columbia accepted with a simple nod.

"Of course sir, no need for apologies, Heaven knows what I would do if it were my daughter and I were in your position." The military man pondered as he thought back to his own family.

"Indeed, but that is why we must be vigilant and learn from our mistakes lest we doom our selves to repetitious failure." The Prophet concluded and sat tall. "Do we have any information on their present whereabouts?" He asked.

"Nothing affirmative, my sources were tracking the First Lady on a course to leave Columbia's air space, but she made an abrupt change of course not long after and dropped off our radar. They could be anywhere within Columbia's borders at this point. We just cannot say for certain as to where precisely they may have docked." General Hart declared with a sigh, he as much as the Prophet hated being in the dark when such a credible threat meandered throughout the city. Comstock stroked his peppered beard and nodded.

"I want a full lockdown of the City, no exceptions." Zachary sighed and shook his head. "With the Vox growing bolder and now the False Shepard running amok with our Lamb, it would be foolish not to have our forces on high alert, more foolish than I already feel for not heeding your advise earlier. Still, nobody leaves the city without being thoroughly checked…any unauthorized exits and…" The Prophet started but Hart held up a hand to perish the thought from his Prophet's mind.

"I will be taken care of with expediency, sir." The General responded and Comstock gave a brief nod in affirmation.

"Good, very good, also I want you to work with Jeremiah concerning Finkton. I know that he has the Columbia Police Authority as well as his private security forces located within his sector, but I want you to keep in close communication with the man. Should he need reinforcements or should his forces fail, we need to be at the ready to respond. Do I make myself clear?" The Prophet charged.

"It will be done, sir." The General affirmed.

"Thank you, and that will be all, dismissed." The Prophet stood and offered a formal military salute to his top military commander who stood and saluted in response. General Hart turned and made to exit when a call from behind forced him to turn and respond to his commander.

"Sir? Something else?" Hart stood rigid, waiting for further instruction.

"Hart…_William…" _The Prophet started, his tone much softer and his stance much less imposing. "Please, bring my daughter back to me."

"Come Hell or high waters…" The General responded and turned to leave. The large wooden door opened before he could reach it and young man stepped inside and cleared his throat to make an announcement.

"Father Comstock, I am here to inform you that High Cardinal Augustine is here to see you, he says it is quite urgent." Behind the young man, the Cardinal stepped forward and it was as if all of the heat had been sucked clean from the room. William Hart didn't frighten easily, but there was something about this holy man that never sat well with him. He made it a point to avoid the Cardinal at every available opportunity, but at those times were it couldn't avoided, their meeting always gave the seasoned military commander the chills, bringing the hairs on the back of his neck to full attention.

"General Hart." The Cardinal acknowledged with a slight bow and gave an eerie grin.

"High Cardinal Augustine…Father Comstock…I would stay to converse, but I have my orders to attend." Hart informed and gave a bow in return before setting off.

"Yes of course, you must forgive the General, these are dark times Columbia faces. But come now Augustine, what is it that has brought out here this evening?" Father Comstock stood and crossed the room halfway to meet one of the most respected religious figures in all of Columbia, well below the Prophet himself of course.

"I understand you are quite busy with the False Shepard absconding with our lamb, but I have come to discuss a matter of _grave _importance." The Cardinal declared grimly and Zachary Comstock's eyebrows nearly rose into his hairline.

"You can't possibly mean…" He began as he gestured his fellow holy man to follow him over to his desk.

"Unfortunately I do, evidently _she _found a way through, as others have been for some time. Though from my own wisdom on the subject, I would say this was far different than what we've seen prior. I managed to _secure _the point of exit, but it's only a matter of time at this rate before she finds another way." The Cardinal said with a flick of his own eyebrows as he sat and watched the Prophet sit across from him.

"The timing is surprising, but this development is not unforeseen." The Prophet declared much to the surprise of the Cardinal who leaned forward with a puzzled look.

"Sir, you knew this would…could…happen?" The black robed holy man asked perplexed as he himself hadn't thought such a thing possible thanks to the work he had carefully been performing since that fateful day so many years ago.

"The burden of Prophecy, Augustine. I have seen visions of such an occurrence coming to pass…though the timing, that was trickier…though now it all makes sense." Comstock shared as he leaned forward and Augustine leaned back in his chair.

"I see then I suspect you have a strategy to employ?" The Cardinal asked with a sinister smile gracing his unnatural features.

"Of course, tell me Augustine?" The Prophet smiled in kind as he stroked his beard. "…What do you know of the nature of the human spirit?" The Cardinal ruminated on these words and his smiled widened.

"Plenty."

* * *

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to us? Please let us go and we'll leave, we won't tell a single soul." Elizabeth proclaimed softly as she pulled her eyes away from her tied up and bludgeoned savior to the man who currently helmed the controls. The man had a trim but wide mustache, wore a huntsmens fedora, a complete olive double-breasted jacket and matching trousers, with heavy leather boots.

"To answer your first question, the name's Preston E. Downes. I'm a bounty hunter by trade. To answer your next, well quite simply, someone put a bounty on you and your friend's head…in a manner of speaking." The man answered plainly as he stepped over and knelt down before the restrained girl with a smile. "As for leaving, well, I'm just afraid I cannot let that come to pass."

"What exactly do you mean by 'a manner of speaking', Mister Downes?" Elizabeth asked politely, hoping to acquire as much information about her newest jailer as possible.

"Well, you see, here's the thing young lady, you see Ole' Father Comstock initially requested my services to deal with Columbia's Vox Populi problem, specifically on a leadership level." He answered, each word dripping with a southern drawl that Elizabeth couldn't quite place.

"So, what then, you're working with the Vox? Why?" She asked in disbelief.

"Call it a 'change in perspective' miss, you see normally I lend my services out to tracking the occasional runaway or perhaps the ne'er do-well who managed to stir up some big shots' porridge. In the beginning this was just like every other job, but as I got closer…things…changed." The bounty hunter trailed off silently as he looked off to some random spot on the airship floor, his mind a thousand miles away.

"What happened to you out there?" Elizabeth questioned further.

"It's…I…" He stammered and took a deep breath to recompose himself. "There's a war going on here little lamb. A war between the haves and the have-nots, a war between right and wrong, a war between oppressors and the oppressed; now I ask you, what could be more noble a cause than that?" He posited toward the girl who scowled at his mention of Columbia's and her father's chosen moniker for her.

"Supposing I am to believe your world view of Columbia's political situation, that still doesn't answer what you want with _me, _or him." Elizabeth tilted her head over in the unconscious Booker's direction. The bounty hunter laughed as he rubbed two fingers along his mustache and cocked his head in a sudden motion, which resulted in a loud crack, followed by a sigh of relief.

"You, of all people, should know just how important you are in the grand scheme of things. The 'Lamb of Columbia, the 'Seed of The Prophet', you're probably one of the most important pieces on the chessboard, outside of the old man's inner circle, and the old man himself of course." Preston knelt down to move an errant strand of hair out of Elizabeth's face as he spoke, but the feisty girl withdrew as quickly as she could, jerking her head away from his touch. The hunter sharply exhaled through his nostrils and shook his head in the negative before turning to cast an appraisal of the unconscious detective.

"As for him." He paused and rubbed his chin." To be honest, I don't outright know what exactly she has in store for the famed _False Shepard_. Originally she set me out kill 'em, bring you back, and carry on my work for the Vox. But when I got to the Hall of Heroes, she sent a messenger, told me to take the both of you alive." He concluded, a mixture of apathy and confusion filled his tone as he spoke of her savior.

Elizabeth couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief that Booker had been spared, albeit on a whim. But it still didn't change their precarious predicament; they were in the hands of the Vox Populi. Every piece of material she had been given pertaining to the terrorist organization painted them in a very dark light, but what more could she expect from an organization governed by the one who took her mother's life. Elizabeth had read that the Vox were killers of women, children, and God-fearing men. They were Satan worshipers and wanted for nothing save for the destruction of civilization and the reign of anarchy, at least that's what she read. Of course if her time in the Hall of Heroes had any bearing, she now knew to take everything Columbia provided which a pinch of salt.

Elizabeth was pulled from her thoughts when she heard a wooden door from the opposite end from the craft open slightly, the creaking of the door was a dead give-away. There in the doorway stood, or rather hobbled, a small boy. His skin was dark, not of African descent perhaps native Indian or of Latin descent, Elizabeth couldn't tell for certain, there wasn't enough information to make an informed decision, not that it mattered at any rate. He wore a tattered white-stained collared shirt and patched up brown trousers. He leaned heavily on his good leg, Elizabeth referred to it as such because the other half of his pant had been cut-off at the knee where a wooden stake protruded to the ground. Elizabeth looked closer and noticed there was freshly dried blood on the trousers and gasped, bringing the full attention of the bounty hunter who turned and scowled.

"My God, you have a child with you?" Elizabeth gasped out in shock to which she earned a rueful look from her captor who crossed the cabin halfway before he addressed the young lad.

"Boy, I thought I told you, you need to stay back there and gather your strength. We did quite a bit of movin' around today as is." He spoke quieter, softer, in a far more caring tone that belied an aspect of the man's nature that Elizabeth hadn't thought one of his professions could ever possess. The boy spoke in a language that was unrecognizable to the girl's ears, of course she could read and write and even speak Greek and the former two could also be said of Latin just as with the best of the biblical scholars, she was fluent in French and had some rudimentary understanding of the other romantic languages, but this was something far and beyond her studies.

"What's the young one saying?" Elizabeth asked of Preston who turned to her and shrugged his shoulders before kneeling down as the young boy hobbled his way up to him.

"I'm sorry son, I still can't understand a lick of what you're sayin'." Preston responded apologetically and the young boy huffed and spoke slower, though to Elizabeth and Preston, he might as well have been speaking gibberish.

"He said, he's not tired and that he can be helpful if you'll let him." Came a low groan from Elizabeth's side of the cabin. The young woman looked over across small walkway and noticed that the detective had started coming around, a painful grimace painted his otherwise handsome features as he attempted to open his eyes and titled his neck, undoubtedly feeling the glaring pain to his bludgeoned noggin.

"Mister DeWitt, you're awake!" Elizabeth exclaimed excitedly, thankful that the veteran hadn't been grievously injured during his brief but violent exchange with the bounty hunter. "Are you okay?"

"Aside from a killer head-ache, I'm swell, no thanks to our new friend here." He shot spitefully at the bounty hunter who simply lifted the boy into his arms and carried him over to the recently conscious Pinkerton Detective and sat beside the man with a strange look in his eye.

"You understand him? The boy?" He asked with fervor to which Booker winced once more at the sudden change the man's volume.

"Yeah, why, don't you?" Booker responded glibly to which Preston frowned and muttered something under his breath about if he hadn't the boy with him.

"No, as a matter of fact, since I…met…this young fellow, I've not been able to get a word of English out of him." Preston admitted as he looked down at the boy and back at the detective.

"Probably because he ain't exactly English, in case you couldn't' tell." Booker responded sarcastically.

"The thought had crossed my mind." Preston responded in kind before thrusting the boy forward. "Ask him what his name is? Go on, ask him!" Preston ushered and Booker look at the young boy, he couldn't have been older than six or seven years old, he definitely had no business getting mixed up with a man the likes of Downes. He did his best to sit up straight and gave the bounty hunter one good look before rolling his own eyes with a sigh.

"_You, boy, the man wants to know your name." _Booker spoke the language of Sioux. The boy's eyes lit up with recognition and touch of excitement at being able to converse with someone who could actually understand him.

"_Hotah, I was called Hotah, before I was brought to this city in the clouds." _The boy responded with the barest ghost of a smile.

"_Interesting, Hotah, I can see your parents chose your name well." _ Booker responded the boy nodded before looking down with sorrow. _"Are your parents here in Columbia? Where is your family?" _Booker asked as he furrowed his brow half in thought and half in concern.

"_I have no family, I was brought to the city, away from my tribe, forced to work for the shining gold man." _The boy frowned.

"Damn it man, what's he sayin'?" Preston all but shouted at the detective who looked to Elizabeth who appeared just as curious as their captor before turning back and clearing his throat.

"Boy says his name is, Hotah. Apparently he was brought hear through less that agreeable means and works for some giant golden man, though I don't know if I heard that right." Booker admitted as the boy's Sioux left some to be desired.

"No, no, he's on the money. Fellah who runs the factories here, Jeremiah Fink, got himself a big golden statue smack-dab in the center of Finkton." Preston stroked his chin with a genuine smile. "Hotah, huh, probably said it a dozen times and it probably flew over my head every last one." He laughed darkly. The boy spoke a few words once more and Preston looked over at the detective for translation.

"He said it was only a few times." Bookers relayed and then turned to the boy. "_How much of our language __can you understand?" _

"_Most of the time I can gather the meaning and can understand enough, but sometimes I do not understand." _The boy responded as he hobbled over to the desk and pulled out a chair that he climbed up and sat to rest with heavy breath. Preston and Elizabeth shared looks of confusion and then turned back to the restrained detective who darted his eyes between them.

"He says understands us mostly, but as you can tell he can't speak the language." He clarified and the bounty hunter nodded and rubbed his jaw in thought. In the span of a few moments, this detective managed to provide a deeper insight into this boy's life than he had managed to pull out in the week and a half that he had spent in direct contact. Preston was about to speak up once more but was interrupted when several sharp knocks upon the metallic airlock door resounded throughout the cabin.

"Preston, it's us, open up!" Came the slightly muffled responses behind the thick slab of metal. Booker and Elizabeth looked worriedly at one another before turning their attention back to the bounty hunter who drew a short pistol from the rear of his belt and gingerly reached for the release valve and slowly opened the door. With great care, he stepped away and aimed at the opening until the door had completely opened revealing the identities of the would-be interlopers.

"Calm yourself Mister Downes, we are still friends, are we not?" Came a deep Haitian voice from the other side of the frame, well outside the view of Booker and Elizabeth.

"Can't be too careful now-a-days, with all of the ruckus from the Hall, the whole damn city's becoming a madhouse." Preston replied in short order as he holstered his pistol.

"Well let me tell you somethin, if you thought that was big, what I'm plannin' next is gon' make Monument Island look like one of them big balls them founders love throwin.'" A female voice cut through and Preston stepped back and ushered the contingent through.

There were men of all different colors rushing aboard, carrying their wounded comrades as well as medical equipment and began to set-up shop inside the cabin. Two large dark skinned men stepped aboard; now Booker was a tall man but these two stood at least half a head taller than him, and surprising, each flanked a rather short woman, maybe only a few inches taller than Elizabeth herself. She wore a white collared-shirt, brown leather suspenders, and wore her sleeves folded up to her elbows. Around her neck lay a blood-red bandana, and her trousers were of the same olive green as Preston's attire, complete with the same leather boots. The woman in question strolled over and knelt down to cup Elizabeth's cheek in her small hand, her dark skin contrasted with Elizabeth's. She tilted the frightened young woman's head slightly, as if appraising some commodity.

"I must admit, you do bear some resemblance to your mother, but your father…I don't see one drop of him in you." The leader remarked as Elizabeth wrenched herself back and shot the fiercest scowl she could.

"That's some high praise coming from the woman who murdered her in cold blood." Elizabeth bit back sharply to which the darker woman reached out gripped Elizabeth by neck to the surprise of Downes and the consternation of DeWitt.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, I don't give a damn what ole' Comstock or any of his ilk say, but I NEVER laid a finger on that woman! She was better than you could ever _hope _to be." She all but spat the last words out as she tightened her grip around the defiant girl's throat, who showed no fear and instead stared back intently into the darker woman's eyes.

"Hey, lady, look, we have no quarrel with you, we were just lookin' to make our way out of the city." Booker shouted in hopes of gathering the woman's attention. Evidently his attempt was successful as the leader of the Vox turned to give him a sneer before releasing the young woman from her grasp and snapped her fingers. At first, Booker was confused and then all became clear as one of the tall brutish men approached him and lifted him to his feet by mean of grabbing the rope that bound him. The rebel leader sauntered over and looked DeWitt up and down in the same manner as before.

"You ain't much for a devil-man" She judged harshly.

"Aye, and you're a bit of a squirt for a revolutionary, but to each their own." Booker bit back and nearly received a fist to the face for his efforts had it not been for this woman who held up her arm to halt the beating, and chuckled.

"My, oh my, you got a lotta nerve comin' up in here, ruing my best laid plans. I assume you know who I am." The woman walked back and forth, like a cat stalking her prey, her eyes never leaving the detective's form.

"If looks are anything to go off, you must be Daisy Fitzroy…" Booker trailed off.

"Nothin' but." Fitzroy held up her hands and brought them back to her akimbo stance as if to acknowledge her captive's correct response.

"My only confusion in all this lies in what you mean by my 'ruinin' your plans. Hell as far as I know, your plans are to rule the city and, quite frankly, I doubt I've done anything to hinder that." Booker answered with honest and Elizabeth slapped his chest playfully with a laugh as she leaned in.

" Oh you fool, you got no idea what sorta mess you wandered in to." She began and Booker furrowed his brow in bewilderment. "The other day, at Monument Tower, I had it all figured out, I would send Preston here in early, he'd get the girl out, I'd blow the whole damn thing to hell, and we'd use her as a hostage to lure Comstock out and...bam." She made the gesture of a gun with her fingers and made a firing motion. "But then _you _came along, and well, out went the baby with the bathwater."

"Not my fault I proved to be better than your bounty hunter. But that still don't explain why you captured us. As far as I can tell, your revolution is going just fine." Booker answered as his eyes lay solely upon his present captor, never once leaving her form, never once showing anything less than strength in the face of overwhelming odds. Fitzroy chuckled and rubbed her temples in her hand.

"Funny you should say it like that cuz' the way I see it, you ruined somethin' from me and I figure you owe me in kind." Daisy leveled at him.

"I don't owe you jack, lady." Booker shot back and this time received a backhand across the face for his efforts.

"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO DAISY FITZROY WITH SUCH DISRESPECT!"

"Simmer down, Abel." Daisy eased her companion as she pressed the angered man's arm back down. "What my associate here means to say, is you better watch your mouth."

"Duly noted." Booker nodded as he felt a trickle of blood fall from the corner of his mouth.

"Now then, the way I see it, you owe me for messin' up my operation. But don't you worry, I got the perfect way for you to make it up to ole'Daisy Fitzroy. Oh Yeah, I got a good angle." The young woman grinned deviously as she crept closer to the bound detective.

"Seein' as how I don't have much in the ways of alternatives, I guess ears." Booker replied with a tone of defeat. Daisy merely gave a chuckled at her prey's despondency and reached into her trouser pocket and retrieved a business card with fancy font embossed upon both sides.

"You see Shepard—" She began.

"It's Booker." The Pinkerton Agent responded but Daisy carried on without acknowledging his interjection.

"—I've got enough muscle for the cause, but we're seriously lacking in firearms department. That's where you come in." Daisy slipped the card into the man's waistcoat.

"Okay and I'm guessin' you need me to make that happen for you." DeWitt responded as he followed the rebel leader's train of thought.

"A-ha, there's that devlish cunning that old bearded bastard kept preachin' on about." Daisy laughed and playfully slapped Booker's shoulder as if to emphasize the point of humor before she turned her head briefly in the bounty hunter's direction. "And t'think, you wanted to put a bullet in that brilliant head a'his." She leveled sarcastically toward the renowned tradesman who merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Daisy then turned back to face the Pinkerton Agent with a serious look, all evidence of mirth had been completely wiped clean.

"Lin, Chen Lin, is the gunsmith in Finkton. He's been an ally to the righteous cause of the Vox and been waitin' for the right time to jump aboard…that time is _now._" Daisy declared with an even tone.

"So once Elizabeth and I get your guns, we can leave the city?" Booker asked with a tinge of hope in his voice. He had a feeling there was a 'but' or a different angle coming, but he also figured they needed to get it out of the way now. Booker DeWitt never took kindly to be played the fool, by anyone much less a wannabe revolutionary.

"The girl? She stays with us until you get the job done. She's far too valuable an asset to let loose in this city. Once you get our guns, you'll get the girl…and your freedom." Daisy affirmed and stood akimbo, almost as if to challenge DeWitt to a response, and the detective rose to meet that challenge.

"See, that's where we have our big problem." Booker began. "Daisy, or do you prefer Fitzroy, doesn't matter as I don't really care that much. Listen, you can hold the airship hostage, hell you can hold my weapons as collateral, but I ain't lettin' that girl outta my sight. So unless you let me take her with me, it seems we're at an impasse." Booker practically snarled with an aggressive grin. Daisy huffed and stroked her chin in thought as she paced before the detective.

Booker took a moment to gauge the reaction of the room. Daisy's bodyguards looked as if they wanted to rip his throat out, no surprise there. Elizabeth had a look of sheer worry mixed up with some other emotion that caused Booker's stomach to feel warm and fuzzy, more on that at a different time. Booker looked over and caught a glimpse of Preston who appeared to survey the entire situation with a look of shock and a certain layer of bemusement, though he appeared to keep very close to the Sioux boy. The Pinkerton Agent had heard tale of the legendary bounty hunter Preston Downes, known for his uncanny ability to track whatever pray caught his attention and to always get the job done, though he never would have struck Booker as the type form close attachments on the job, but then again looking at himself and Elizabeth, it wasn't exactly impossible. Booker focused back upon Daisy who halted mid-stride and withdrew a Mauser similar to his own and pressed the edge of the barrel to his forehead, which prompted Elizabeth to call out in shock and terror.

"I could put a bullet through your skull right here, right now, and watch your brains spill out and drip across these pretty floors." Daisy pressed the firearm deeper into the unflappable detective's noggin, but he maintained a firm eye contact and never wavered.

"Reckon you could, quite easily too. But you'd still have the problem of your guns, and I have a hard time believin' you can get someone that Comstock's people won't instantly recognize and gun down over to your precious gunsmith, which is why you probably considered me in the first place. Then, saying you do kill me, and try to use Elizabeth here as a hostage—well that ain't gonna go well because the man hardly knows me and he's already sent some heavy hitters my way, but you…the old man hates you and no tellin' what he'd do to kill two birds with one stone—" Booker paused as he spoke with a cold anger. "…but what the hell do I know." He finished and Daisy hovered her finger over the trigger and pressed the gun even deeper. Her frown deepened and her upper lip quivered with anger and vitriol, with a grunt of frustration she with drew the pistol and shoved it back into the front of her trousers.

"Your good, your very good, ain't dealt with anyone who gotta set like you. Though I can't tell if you're confident or just plain dumb." The rebel leader paused and sighted. "Guess it don't much matter one way or the other. Fine, you drive a hard bargain...But I'll allow it." She conceded.

"But Daisy!" One person chimed up.

"You can't be serious!" Another announced shocked by the display. Daisy brought her hand up to halt the dissent.

"Preston here will be keepin' a very close eye on you. You step outta line once—well, there won't be a next time, you get me!" Daisy pulled the detective close by the ropes that bound him and looked him square in the eye.

"Yeah, I get you." Booker seethed in anger, he hated this but he didn't have another choice. Going along for this ride was the only chance of getting him and Elizabeth back stateside.

"Good, glad to hear it. Abel take us the Finkton Wharf Shippin' Docks. We'll drop our newest members down there." Daisy ordered and the burly stepped lively and took the helm of the dirigible. He put in the proper coordinates and fired up the engines and within moments the vehicle was off headed toward Finkton.

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**Endnote: Well there you have it, that's the end of that! Again I do know it's shorter so I do apologize if anyone is disappointed. I want you to know the next one is probably going to be much longer and going to involve some Christmas stuff, but not a whole lot since it's still July in Columbia, but I mean I have the means to add it in where I see fit without totally making it a jarring experience.**

**Anyway, next chapter, Elizabeth and Booker travel to Finkton where our heroes get to know each other a little better, new friends/enemies will be made, and a revelations revealed! **

**Until next time…This is TheLifeLongEditor**


	16. Chapter 16: The Songs We Were Singing

**Chapter 16: The Songs We Were Singing**

**Author's Note: Here it is, the next chapter. I just want to take the time to wish all of my readers a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! This is a big one and there's a lot piled in so I hope you all enjoy. This one took a bit out of me so don't be surprised if this is the last one you see before the new year. I'm not saying I won't but yeah don't be totally surprised!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite or its characters as that privilege goes to Ken Levine.**

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The remainder of the journey to the Finkton Dockyard undertaken largely in silence on the part of Booker and Elizabeth; Daisy had elected not to release them from their bondage until their departure citing her the relatively unknown nature of their relationship. The veteran gave rebel leader her due credit, for had he been in her shoes he probably would have made the same decision as even now he still debated as to whether or not he could indeed blast them all to kingdom come without he or Elizabeth biting the dust as well. Booker wasn't foolhardy, it wasn't like he willfully threw himself into death-defying situations for the thrills but he wasn't absolutely terrified at the prospect of his eventual demise, he grew up having been taught that all men are appointed to die at least once, the other was a more spiritual matter. But as he looked over at Elizabeth who took in the situation with wide and curious eyes, he knew he had more to live for, more to fight for, and, if necessary, more to die for; her mere presence had begun to change him, whether it was for the better or worse it wasn't for him to make the call, though he could only hope for the best as he knew he was a man in desperate need of redemption.

Elizabeth turned her head slightly and noticed the detective's eyes on her and offered a small smile of reassurance and warmth with a minimalist of nods, Booker gave a slight nod in response as his gut was filled once more with that same distracting warmth that he'd felt over the past few days. Booker began to reflect on their time together and contemplated the future of their relationship. Here was a vibrant and beautiful young woman who wanted to see the world and keep him close all at once, to him her taste in men left a lot to be desired but she didn't see things that way. She had a knack for breaking down his walls and drawing out more laughs in the span of hours than he'd elicited in years. She was drawn to him in very much the same way he was drawn to her and he had to wonder just what did fate or God have in store for them down the road. Would it end in tragedy as all had before or would it be different, he supposed only time would tell.

"Ma'am, we have arrived at the docks." Came deep voice laden with a thick Haitian accent. The woman in question stood from her knelt-down position next to one of her injured men and crossed the cabin to appraise the situation below.

"Better late than nevah, good work and keep us clear of the perimeter defenses. Word's come down that Comstock's locked all of the ports down going in and out, I hear tell they're liable to shoot down their own ships if necessary." She mumbled the last part more for her own benefit rather than to add anything constructive. "Set us down over there, I'll go get our new 'friends' ready." Daisy gestured to her desired location and the would-be helmsmen nodded as he engaged the craft and prepared the dirigible for docking.

Daisy approached Elizabeth first and brandished a large bowie knife from her person. She twisted the knife in her hand and gave the young woman a quick devious grin before frowning and cutting the bindings loose, stepping back in the event that Elizabeth had tried something foolish. Elizabethe merely loosed her arms and shifted her shoulders as the resulting cracks gave evidence to the obvious discomfort at such an accommodation. Daisy then stepped over to Booker and gave him another once over.

"There's a war coming Shepard, a big, bloody, God awful war and ooner or later your gonna have to pick a side." Daisy charged and Booker groaned in annoyance.

"It's Booker and I don't _need _to pick any sides, this ain't my fight and I don't intend to stay long enough to see the fireworks explode." Booker argued.

"This is just as much your fight as it is mine." She shoved a finger into his chest. "Comstock is the god of the rich man, the pitiless man, the _white _man…but if you believe in common folk, if you believe in the righteous folk, then you'd join up with us and rid Columbia of this oppressive regime. You'd see this is a righteous cause worth fightin' for, a cause worth dying for!"

"Look Fitzroy, I ain't a revolutionary and I ain't much for politics, I just want my airship." The annoyed Pinkerton detective replied, he wasn't looking to get any more involved with Columbia's situation than absolutely necessary as a means of escape. Daisy huffed and shook her head as she muttered something beneath her breath. The young revolutionary brought her knife to Booker's bindings, made precision cut, and swiftly brought the knife to Booker's throat, hovering the steel blade mere millimeters away from the vulnerable flesh; Booker didn't bat an eye at this as he instead hardened his gaze upon the violent rebel leader.

"You get one shot, _Booker, _your first chance is your _last _chance. Don't disappoint me!" Daisy shot forth with a low intense tone. Booker's mind instantly drew back to the light house, the dead man bound to the chair, and the writing on the wall in his blood. The wheels in his brain began to turn but he hadn't the time for deep introspection.

"I'll get your damn weapons and then you and Comstock and all of Columbia can blow yourselves to hell and back." Booker spat back through gritted teeth. Daisy only offered that same demented smile she gave to Elizabeth and withdrew her knife as she took a few measured steps back, and watched Booker's entire form eased as he stretched his now free limbs.

"Preston, give our kind benefactor here his armaments, I have a feelin' he might need 'em for the task at hand." Daisy motioned over to the bounty hunter with her head and stalked off over to the hatch to engage the release mechanisms. Downes bent down and retrieved Booker's leather rig and firearms and presented them to the dour detective.

"You best do as the lady says, boy. She'll tear your throat out just as soon as she'd shake your hand, you read me." He helped Booker with his gear and stepped aside.

"Yeah, I read you loud and clear." The clearly aggravated veteran grumbled as he checked the chamber of his Paddywhacker Hand Cannon before holstering the firearm and readying his Mauser in similar fashion before replacing it to his hip at which point he heard the hissing of air rushing through the seams between the pressurized hatch and the hull as the rebel leader pushed the massive metal door open. The detective reached over and took Elizabeth's hand in his own and led her toward the exit, forgoing politeness in light of their being in a relatively unknown and potentially hostile area. Elizabeth stepped out onto the Dock first and turned back to face Booker who paused when he noticed the bounty hunter hadn't moved a muscle.

"Preston, you coming?" He asked curiously but instead of speaking, Daisy interjected.

"Mister Downes has a few _errands _to run first, but rest assured he will be keeping a close eye on you." She assured as she pat the bounty hunter on his shoulder. Booker nodded at stepped out of the airship and turned to watch the posh dirigible take flight once more and disappear behind the clouds. Once the airship left their sightline, the detective gave a huge sigh and let loose a few silent curses.

"Mister DeWitt, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked as she stepped up from behind.

"Yeah, I'm just frustrated is all." Booker bit his bottom lip and shook his head in frustration as he turned to face his lovely companion. "Sorry I got us into this mess."

"You have no need to apologize, you had no way of knowing Mister Downes had stowed away aboard the airship prior to our arrival. Nor that he would have aligned himself with the Vox Populi" Elizabeth offered kindly as she stepped forward to give the detective a closer examination.

"Even still, I should have been more aware of my surroundings. If I had been more alert, we'd probably be half way to New York by now." Booker looked off to the side dejectedly but felt a soft hand grace his chin and tilt his head over and down.

"You can't control everything, Booker. You're not God. You make mistakes just the same as I do, so don't go beating yourself up for what you can't control. We're here for a greater purpose, I'm sure of it. We just have to see what that purpose happens to be. But, whatever the case may be, we'll find out _together._" She stopped thoughtfully and tilted the taller man's head over to the side to get a look at where the bounty hunter had bludgeoned Booker with the butt of his rifle. "How's your head feeling?"

"A little sore, probably sportin' a good bruise, but nothin' permanent." Booker muttered as he endeavored not to melt under her mesmerizing touch. He tilted his head back in her direction and gaver her a serious look. "Back there, while I was out, Downes didn't…uh…that is to say…you weren't…"

"Mister Downes conducted himself as a gentleman" Elizabeth assured and watched him gulp and nod as the feelings of dread washed away from his face. It was heartwarming to see how much he cared for her and the subtle ways he showed such care, even if he didn't realize it himself.

"From what I know of Preston Downes, the man's ruthless unto his own cunning, but he's always said to be a man of distinction and class—though in my experience, you can't trust anyone." Booker finished bitterly and Elizabeth gave the detective a look.

"Does that mean you don't trust me, Booker?" Elizabeth offered and Booker fought to keep his composure as she gave him a look that threatened to break every wall around his heart with one swift stroke.

"N-No, I mean, yeah I trust you, but you're different." Booker stammered as he elected to proceed down the dockyard with his curious companion in tow.

"Different how?" Elizabeth asked curiously, the barest hint of a smile graced her beautiful face as she peered up at her suddenly broody companion who did everything he could to avoid eye contact.

"Just…different." Was all Booker would say and the implication of his tone implied that she wouldn't be getting anything more out of the detective anytime soon so she merely smiled inwardly at the progress made and kept in pace with puzzling yet fascinating man. Elizabeth smiled and that familiar warm feeling returned at the signs of her stalwart companion's care and consideration. They both turned around and peered across the way to a massive projection of a well-dressed mustachioed man, when the familiar sound of a public address system activating.

"_Now the most common complaint I hear from the working man is that they are unhappy with their lot. 'Why torment yourselves?' I ask. The ox cannot become a lion. And why would you want to? Who wants all those responsibilities and worry? You do your job, you eat your food, and you go to sleep. Simplicity is beauty." _The industry magnate cheered through the hovering speakers before the speech ceased with the sound of an instrument being hung back up and the receiver depressed. The visible workers didn't seem to consider the businessman's words as they instead kept at their trades.

"Of all the…" Booker began but allowed the sentiment to die on arrival before turning his head over to his fair companion. "Whaddya know about this Fink fellah?"

"Jeremiah Fink, Columbia's Industrial Titan of Industry. He was one of the original founders of the city way back in the day. He holds a strong manufacturing monopoly throughout the entirety of the city. If he doesn't outright control it, you better believe he has his hand in it somehow." Elizabeth informed as she folded her hands. "In fact, about ten years ago he shocked the world with his creation of what we know to be the assembly line method. There's a nasty rumor going around with such claims that he is, in fact, an atheist."

"Interesting, very interesting, sounds like the sort certain of us Pinkerton's are loaned for upon 'reasonable request'." Booker dryly retorted as he and the girl began their walk down the aerial pier. "Though it wouldn't surprise me to learn of this man's religious afiliations being less than holy, he's probably in love with the almighty coin over the Almighty Lord." He finished abruptly.

"Perhaps so, he seems oddly in love with himself, that's for sure." Elizabeth countered with her own observation at seeing man's name all over practically everything in sight.

"You know anything about that Fitzroy character, aside from the whole…you know." Booker finished a lot quieter and in a more awkward tone as he attempted to navigate the seemingly treacherous minefield that was Elizabeth's past but the young woman gave no indication she was bothered by Booker's inquiry.

"Daisy Fitzroy…she's either the greatest of heroes or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling of course." Elizabeth tilted her head and waggled her eyebrows slightly as to indicate the dual nature of Columbia's informational system. "Do you believe we can trust her to keep her word? About the airship?" Elizabeth questioned, her tone grew more somber and reserved as she went into her own thinking. Booker shook his head light back and forth as if he were batting an answer about in his cranium before he finally offered a reply.

"That's a tough one. Me personally, I wouldn't trust her farther than I could throw her. That woman's got an air about her. It's hard to explain but that look in her eye, I've seen it before and let me tell ya', it ain't pretty when someone like that crosses someone who might stand in their way…" Booker trailed off, his own eyes growing wide with remembrance.

"Someone like you, perhaps?" Elizabeth questioned with a hint of worry in her tone.

Perhaps…" Booker muttered and shook himself back into reality. "Even still, if she's good for an airship, I could care less if she was the Grand Poobah herself." Booker finished tersely but Elizabeth giggled at his words and followed the detective along as he made his way closer to the interior of the docks.

Nocturn in E-Flat Major played on a scratchy record played throughout the public address system, a small comfort for the over worked 'employees' of Finkton Industries as they went about their tasks at the Dockyard. The Docks themselves were constructed of quality material, using what appeared to be highly polished and sealed oak; strong and sturdy enough to take a beating but polished and poised enough to impress any onlooker. The pathways were surrounded by various turning and connected gears, grinding and churning away for purposes unbeknownst to the on looking duo as they strolled about the yard.

The sounds of hammers colliding with hard surfaces echoed about the area with an oddly satisfying 'clank' which each precision strike upon whatever surface they were brought upon. As Elizabeth and Booker approached the projector screen, a large cargo barge approached the central open space and docked with an uncanny grace. Several dock workers seemingly appeared out of thin air under the instruction of a stern foreman who barked orders as the mechanical crane attached the barge began to shift and move large crates marked 'Fink Industries' on and off the craft. The pair were careful as they tread lightly around the workers who scrubbed the dock floor by hand, Elizabeth only taking her eyes off the poor souls to observe a conveyor rail bring three vending machines up for workers to scrub, polish, and otherwise rid of any dirt or grime.

Booker looked onward and saw large piping and other machine work obstructed their present path, however it appeared that they could briefly board the new vessel to cross onto an adjoining craft to make it to the other side; the detective motioned for Elizabeth to follow as they boarded the cargo craft. They pair were about half way across when the grumpy foreman's call halted them in their tracks.

"HEY YOU THERE! YOU PEOPLE ON CARGO DETAIL!" He shouted from across the way and marched directly over to the stunned pair, Booker stood firm while Elizabeth looked somewhat frantically between her composed companion and the irate manager.

"No sir, just passin' through to Finkton. If you'll let us pass we'll be headed on our way without incident." Booker calmly conveyed as the foreman scratched his chin and cast a knowing look between the pair.

"Say, haven't I seen the pair of you 'round here before." He inquired suspiciously as he took another step forward towards Elizabeth and gave her a good examination before looking up at the detective. He noticed that Booker's right hand had been firmly in his pocket and that sent alarm bells ringing in his mind.

"You, show me your hand, now." The man ordered. Booker looked at Elizabeth and back at the foreman.

"Sir, I fail to see why this is—" Booker began but was cut short.

"I don't care what your personal failings may be, your hand, now!" The aggravated worker declared and Booker rummaged around in his pocket and slowly withdrew his bandaged hand and opened his palm to reveal a handful of Silver Eagles.

"As you can see, I'm nothin' special. Just a traveler with his girl, passin' through Finkton. Do we understand each other?" Booker suavely intimated as he offered the bewildered foreman the money, the latter of whom took it and counted without delay. He looked down at the money, back up at Booker and Elizabeth, and back down to count the bribe. Certainly satisfied with his haul, he straightened up and pocketed the currency and looked about to see several of the workers had halted and watched the situation unfold.

"Hey! You lot! Get back to work or I swear by the almighty Prophet I'll have each and every one of you out on your asses before the sun sets!" The man leveled furiously and the workers frantically picked up their implements and set back to work. The foreman turned back and faced the pair once more.

"As for you two, I don't want to see your faces again! Get the hell out off my yard!" He said lowly and walked on to inspect the work being conducted and bark ordered where he saw fit.

"Best do as he says, no tellin' how much patience a man like that has." Booker silently ushered Elizabeth forward.

"I'm surprised that worked." Elizabeth gasped as they walked the boarding plank onto the other vessel.

"Don't see why? I highly doubt a man such as Fink pays these men anything near worth a damn." The detective responded darkly as his mind harkened back to the darker days of his childhood following his father's passing.

"_Now some folks just aren't just aren't satisfied with their place here at Fink Industries. But I tell you there's a purpose for all living things. Would the Pharaoh's of Egypt have been able to stand at the top of their pyramids if the Israelites had not made their bricks? Would the captains of industry have been able to ride the rails had not the chinamen laid the track for them? So, I say, chin up! History is build on the backs of men like you!" _The public address system came alive once more and the suave business peddled his propaganda like a true professional.

"I swear that man's more full of himself than…" Booker shook his head as he stowed that thought away for another time as his words drew some looks from nearby workers. Getting by the foreman wasn't too difficult but he'd rather not push his luck being knee deep is treacherous territory.

"He certainly has a knack for elocution." Elizabeth chimed up as they departed from the secondary vessel back onto another section of the pier and proceeded in navigating around various crates and cargo storage units.

"That's one way of puttin' it." Booker mumbled as he shot Elizabeth a look and rolled his eyes much to the latter's enjoyment as they approached a path leading to the inner workings of the dockyard. Immediately they were treated to a massive billboard for Finkton Manufacturing; the advertisement boldly displayed '_Eyes Forward' _in black font as it depicted a line of silhouetted works marching ahead against an orange and red background. Booker was striken by the piece of propaganda, something about it didn't feel quite right but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the men scrubbing the floors all around as the men on the ladders painted the damn thing, but something about it screamed 'wrong'. He looked ahead and watched as Elizabeth approached another projected image depicting a worker with question marks all about him as he looked down in deep thought.

"What do you suppose he's thinking about?" Elizabeth pondered softly as she gazed upward at the depiction as it shifted to another image of Fink Industries. Booker stroked his chin and shrugged.

"Not a clue, perhaps if we wait around more we'll get another earful of Mister Fink's opinions on the thoughtful worker." Booker replied dryly as Elizabeth playfully slapped his shoulder with a short laugh as they headed out onto another section of dock where they had just missed a rather serious collision of containers as a despondent employee stood as he jot down notes on his clipboard, no doubt appraising the situation as he made personal comments to himself. As they approached they could hear a bit of the man's personal conversation with himself.

"This is not good, not good AT ALL! By Washington's Sword, Mister Marlowe and Mister Fink are going to be mighty displeased." He shook his head vigorously and scribbled down notes as Elizabeth and Booker passed by unnoticed. The primary container had undoubtedly been carrying dozens upon dozens of crates containing the once prized _Shock Jockey _as indicated by the obvious charged crystals shocking the container, the nearby vessel, and the dock itself; in addition, the floor was covered in the same blue fluid as the storage closet in the Hall of Heroes and Booker could clearly see some crates labeled with the same emblem and the same recall stamp. On board the vessel he could spot a seasoned captain screamind down the neck of a much younger deck hand, probably giving the younger man a proper scolding for the foul-up.

"Going up?" Booker reached out and clasped Elizabeth's hand firmly as she offered in response to his request.

"Lead on, Booker. Up, up, and away we go." Elizabeth said with a small amount of glee as she felt his warm hand guide her up through the hull of the container before giving a brief leap down upon the floor below. Once both had set down, Elizabeth thanked Booker for his help and they proceeded forward toward a set of heavy industrial doors. Booker set upon them with both hands and cranked them open with several powerful tugs.

"All right, that's the last of it, cast off, we need to get movin' before this storm rolls though." They heard a hardy captain call out to his crew and watched as the craft pulled away just as the Pinkerton Agent completely opened the doors. There inside was several series of skyrails with 'Columbia Freight' adorned on either slide flying through the air at incredibly speeds bound only by the metal attachement to the magnetized rail.

"We best be careful Mister DeWitt, one misstep and it could be our heads." Elizabeth gulped as she spotted a warning sign demanding workers operate within designated areas with the proper gear.

"You'll hear no arguments from me. I prefer my head attached to my neck and shoulders thank you very much." Booker looked about the busied line of cargo containers and kept Elizabeth close as they made their way up the stairs, careful to avoid finding themselves in the path of any oncoming traffic.

They stood by and watched as a full express of things rushed by with expediency; to Elizabeth this was all exciting, having the ability to watch the same mechanisms she had read about all her life in full effect as Booker saw this all as one monumental accident just waiting to happen. Finally a break in the traffic appeared and Booker seized the opportunity to push ahead wherein they found themselves in massive storage room, with crates covered with large tarps. Stacks on stacks on stacks of massive crates filled the room and were restrained by thick layers of rope. Elizabeth twirled around as she looked up in awe at the scale of it all, her mind abuzz with what sort of trinkets and secrets lay hidden away within their wooden confines.

Booker called for Elizabeth who was shaken out of her daydreaming and quickly fell in line with Booker's stride as they proceeded through the next room. There were pistons lining the walls each line with various gauges measuring pressure amongst other data. The room was filled with pneumatic tubes coming to and from various locations. With a city the size of Columbia there could be dozens if not hundreds of rooms such as this sending and diverting contents from one far off location to another in expedited means. The sound of rushing air filled the room as Elizabeth's eyes widened to almost comical proportions as she closely examined several nearby lines and followed them about the room. Booker walked, content to watch his curious companion observe the world around her; he stepped ahead, careful not to disturb her fun as the days had been taxing enough and she needed some sort of distraction from the hell this city had to offer.

The detective located the nearby exit hall and swiftly made his way over, opting to settle on standing on the frame of the doorway and looking inward to ensure nothing happened to his precious cargo. He chuckled at that inward remark given the nature of their surroundings, but a thought did occur to him. Elizabeth had become quite dear to him in their relatively short time, or rather she had _endeared _herself to him. Booker watched Elizabeth stand fascinated by the machinations of man, anyone else could have taken a cursory look and thought nothing of it but to Elizabeth it was something amazing, something wonderful, and he loved that about her. He stopped himself before going anything further, afraid of where such thoughts my lead and instead opted to look outward to get a good idea as to where they might be headed. His spirits dropped as he read the banner above the building just up the path.

"_Columbian Authority – Defending our Values"_

"Oh now that's just what we need right about now. More trouble." Booker said sourly as he thought about his next course of action.

"What seems to be the matter, Booker?" Elizabeth perked up at hearing her silent companion's dour declaration.

"See for yourself." Booker responded and made a motion with his head in the office's direction. Elizabeth rushed up to his side and looked outward, her chipper demeanor disappeared and a disquieting look came about her.

"Oh my, perhaps there's another way around?" The young woman offered up hopefully.

"Doubt it." Booker shot her down as he took a step forward and looked about. "Looks to be a check-in station, almost like a port authority—and seein' as we have neither the means to go under or over it, our last resort is through it." Booker withdrew his Hand Cannon and took a few cautious steps forward. Elizabeth followed suit and looked about for any signs of an ambush. Both stood on either sides of the large industrial doors and nodded as each gripped a handle and pried them open. To their surprise, the office appeared to be abandoned. To top it all off, within taking a few steps inside a brilliant white flash of lightening flooded the entirety of the office via the windows and a bombastic boom of thunder echoed from afar, causing Elizabeth to jump in freight and push directly into the detective who had already been on edge.

"Woah, easy does it now." Booker caught her tight and helped steady the agitated young woman.

"Sorry." She quietly whispered, embarrassed to show such fear in front of Booker. "I umm don't know what came over me just then." She awkwardly tried to explain away the situation and Booker gave a grin.

"S'alright, plenty normal not to like thunderstorms. Though I'd take 'em over a squad of these goons anyday." Booker joked as he holstered his revolver and looked about the room for any sign of recent activity but found no sign of hurried evacuation. Maybe, just maybe, he considered that the good Lord had finally cut them a break. Elizabeth nodded and fought down a blush as she watched her companion look about the room.

"So if Columbia's ports operate anything like the ones back stateside, I'd imagine we're near some kinda entry point into Finkton. Like a welcome center or somethin', for processing new arrivals." Booker hypothesized as he found the exit and headed in the direction.

"Then we can find our way to Mr. Lin and be rid of ..of…all of this…" Elizabeth sputtered as she desperately sought to find suitable words to describe the situation but found none that could encompass the totality of what they had been through.

"That's the idea." Booker replied as he pushed the doors open and took a few steps outside. He noticed the amber skies of the late afternoon and early evening had given way to a rush of dark and foreboding clouds.

The detective thought back to the storm, which that captain had referred to back at the dockyard. Another flash of lightening lit up the area followed by another thunderclap, this time a little closer and sooner than before. Booker motioned with his hand for Elizabeth to follow as he spotted what appeared to be a system of skyrails leading ahead, with a little luck he might find one headed in Finkton's direction. Elizabeth followed timidly as the thunder had once more elicited a similar reaction of fear, but this time more contained and manageable. As they stepped out into the steadily worsening weather each were treated to a site of twin towers, each adorned with twin statues of uniformed officers on either side and a projection of Jeremiah Fink's face emblazoned the furthest side, they had no view of the front of the tower closest to them. Both quickly ascended a staircase, which led up and around the tower, holding the promise of quick forward progression. As the pair reached the top they were met by a three man squad of Columbian Police Officers.

"Hold it right there you filthy false shepard. Comstock wants the girl and we aim to give her to 'im." The lead officer brandished his rifle and held it steady. Booker held his hand up in mock surrender and Elizabeth stood carefully behind him.

"See, here's the thing. I don't think she wants to go with you." Booker began and tilted his head back. "Elizabeth, you wanna go with these people?" He asked with joviality to which Elizabeth shook her head profusely in the negative.

"Well there you go lads, looks like she's stayin' with me." Booker shrugged and internally concentrated on brining a desired vigor to bear.

"Well there's three of us and more on the way, and only one a'you." Another officer spoke up and cocked his piece. Booker smirked.

"Yeah that don't really mean much to a guy like me." Booker said darkly and flared his bandaged hand forward rapidly and sent a mighty powerful wave of Bucking Bronco hurtling toward the unsuspecting officers who quickly found themselves suspended in mid air. The Pinkerton was surprised at the power of this effort and he had intended to knock them off their feet, perhaps it was his imagination but he felt his vigors power had grown. Taking the bull by the horns the detective drew his Mauser and opened fire deadly intent upon the incapacitated officers. By the time the Pinkerton Agent had emptied his pistol, all three men had been sent on their way to meet their maker and as the effects of the vigor wore off, the men dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. Booker pulled another clip from within his rig and reloaded quickly, he turned to gauge Elizabeth's condition and watched as the crouching young woman slowly pulled her hands from her ears and looked up at him as she brushed her skirts. Booker was about to say something when he heard an officer's whistle blow from below and the shouts of men offloading from a nearby skiff.

"Looks like duty calls." Booker readied his sidearm and retrieved his skyhook.

"Anything I can do to help?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.

"Nothin' really, just scrounge around for some ammo or even a rifle if you can find it, but above all stay clear of any fire and keep your head down." Booker ordered and Elizabeth nodded.

"Got it!." Elizabeth replied and began her search back the way they came as Booker powered up the Skyhook and leapt out and attached to the magnetized rail. It appeared that they had set the system on a circuit to loop back in on itself, no doubt to lock any traffic in place but this would work well for the former marine. He pulled heavy on the trigger and sped down the rail and aimed downward at the soldiers, opening fire upon them and taking several out before looping through the opposite tower at which point Booker had switched out for his Hand Cannon and summoned the Devil's Kiss to aid him in finishing off the remaining forces.

The officers in question had just begun to step out of cover to get a bearing on the location of their target when Booker set down and opened fire, taking two out and flushing out a third with a rather violent toss of Devil's kiss. The yield was far greater than before and had enough power to light the remaining man aflame, causing him to yell out in pain and emerge from cover desperately flailing about in an attempt to extinguish the molten fire; Booker put the man out of his misery with a single clean shot.

"Booker, incoming vessel!" Elizabeth shouted from on high and pointed outward. Booker's eyes followed and he quickly spotted an oncoming vessel carrying a load of officers as well as an automated turret. At first the detective couldn't make out the munition type but all too quickly did the mechanized horror make that apparent as it fired a volley of rocket-propelled grenades in his direction, two of which collided with a skyrail system that appeared to travel forward, leaving the third to impact about twelve feet from Booker's position. The detective cursed and weighed his options as he thought about how he could get them out this jam when, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Elizabeth waving about.

"Here, I found this for you!" She shouted and threw down a scoped rifle which Booker caught with amazing reflect. Where and how she managed to find such a weapon would be a discussion for another time and place entirely, but for now he was happy to have such a weapon to aid him. Taking a glance along the rifle he saw an engraving on either side, _Bird's Eye._ He checked the chamber and readied himself, he willed Shock Jockey into his hands and rolled out of cover. A bolt of man-made lightening flew from his outstretched hand into the automated turret, which sputtered and shut down in a puff of smoke as arcs of electricity encompassed it in totality. He was surprised at the power of the bolt and was sure this time that it wasn't his imagination and that he was certain that phial he drank back in the First Lady had made some changes.

Having moved back behind one of the numerous crates littering the area, Booker rested the rifle along its wooden surface and took aim for the approaching airship and the moment he had an office in his sights, he pulled the trigger and ended his enemies life. He cleared and loaded another round into the chamber and fired at another as he was making to depart the vessel as four other men had proceeded in doing. Booker once more cleared the spent round and reloaded, waiting for the first man brave enough to attempt another assault. He wouldn't have to wait long as one armed lawman ducked out to providing covering fire so his others could advance but Booker was quicker than they could anticipate and dropped the man before he could return back to the safety of cover; the detective suffered a few rounds to his barrier before he ducked back under and the three began to open fire on his position.

He was about to attempt another kill when he heard the loud sound of gears and pistons firing up and as the detective glanced out and watched as the once paralyzed turret sputtered to life once more and attempted to locate its target. At first, DeWitt let loose a flurry of curses but then an idea sparked within and he prayed to high heaven it would work as his arm came alive with that familiar green glow of the Mesmerize vigor. Booker set the rifle aside and drew his Mauser, on the count of three he burst forward from cover and fired wildly toward the officer's directions forcing them lawmen into cover. The ringing of the far-off turret indicated that Booker would have to act fast and he did exactly that by casting the green aural wave into mechanical weapon and with a bit of whirling and buzzing the machine took on a green glow and began to target the officers and rained hell upon them.

The turret managed to wipe one officer clean from the face of the earth before the others set upon the machine, opening fire with their Triple R's and narrowly avoiding the explosive rounds in the process. Booker took this time to grab the Bird's Eye rifle and leap back onto the Skyrail where he landed next to Elizabeth who stood by watching the whole exchange.

"Booker, there you are! Did you actually control that rocket turret?" Elizabeth asked rapidly as she lightly checked the detective over for any signs of grievous injury. Booker shrugged and looked beyond her to watch the firefight unfold before refocusing on Elizabeth.

"What's the plan?" She asked as she gave a huff of air from her lips to blow an errant strand of hair off her face before guiding it back behind her ear.

"Figure I'll just let these guys pick each other off and finish whoever remains…which based on that explosion appears to be the unluckiest bastard in all of Columbia right about now. Excuse me." Booker muttered the last part as he readied his rifle and took aim for the lone standing officer who looked about frankly for any sign of the False Shepard. With one deep breath, Booker took his shot and put the last man down where he stood. He laid the rifle down and steadied himself.

"I have to hand it to you Mister DeWitt, you sure know your way around a brawl." Elizabeth said half jokingly as she surveyed the carnage below. She never approved of his methods, no matter how seemingly necessary they might appear to be at the given time but she internally admitted it was something to see how the soldier operated so fluidly on the battlefield, almost as if he were born to fight.

"But the big question remains, where do we go from here?" Elizabeth spoke up higher over the sudden gust of wind as she looked out at the storm clouds rolling in from behind.

Booker blinked and looked out yonder. The major skyrail leading up to a path beyond appeared to be completely incapacitated thanks to the small misfire of that rocket turret. He stroked his chin as he looked about when he spotted a shimmering light in the distance, normally he would have imagined it being the sunlight dancing off some reflective surface but given the fact they faced dark and gloomy skies, this was undoubtedly _not _the case.

"Say, Elizabeth, do you by any chance see a tear over in that direction?" Booker pointed for the woman's benefit who peered out across the clouded horizon and, at first, saw nothing until her eyes lit with recognition.

"Sure thing, I see it! It looks…it looks like a…another Skyrail!" Elizabeth clapped and reached out with her hands. "Here, let me—" The young woman started as she reached out with her abilities and tugged the traversal unit in from another reality. The whole of the unit shimmered with an unnatural light and glow as it stood proudly in their own reality, ready and waiting to be used. Elizabeth stumbled backward a bit and deftly brought a hand to her nose to stem a slow trickle of blood. Pulling the rail through the tear hadn't required much effort but it still had a physical effect. The detective had his Skyhook at the ready and reached out with his arm to steady the unbalanced girl as she recomposed herself from her recent efforts. He let go and watched as she walked off and looked about for another Skyhook in sight, but huffed with crossed arms when she found none and turned to find an offering Booker waiting for her.

"Climb aboard madam." He offered playfully to which Elizabeth flashed him a smile as she sauntered over.

"Why thank you, kind sir." She accepted by taking his hand and climbing into his embrace. Booker reached up and engaged the device and leapt up into the air allowing the mechanism to do the lion's share of the work as they flew onto the circuited loop. As they neared the new rail Booker warned Elizabeth to hold tight and he felt her grip intensify. Satisfied that she had him tight, he leapt from the old rail to the new rail and attached to the new with a powerful swing as the device lined up properly and sped them down and entirely knew and uncharted course.

* * *

"You have any idea where this thing leads?" Booker asked as the far off rumble of thunder brought to mind the rapidly impending storm.

"H-Haven't the foggiest." Elizabeth's stammered response came as she peered out into the cloudy sky, only breaking to look up at Booker's intense forward gaze. The Pinkerton Agent pulled heavy on the trigger and sped up the inclining rail and around several spirals before arriving just above platform for the "Worker Introduction Center". Booker leapt down and grunted as Elizabeth slight added weight caused a much harsher descent, but nothing the seasoned veteran couldn't handle. He set the young woman down and gave her a look of wonder to which she shrugged and replied, "Wish fulfillment" and stepped forward to examine the various advertisements, namely one of a man who held his child up high as his wife stood behind as it boldly proclaimed "Your Family's Future Is Today!"

"Looks like Mister Fink isn't exactly skimping out on the on the grandiose displays of wealth." Booker surmised as he peered up at the gilded entrance, shimmering under the artificial illumination as the thunder clouds blotted out the sun. The statues of Fink on either side of the entrance too had the same golden make and each appeared to display the man in his most well-dressed form.

"_Do you know what Daisy Fitzroy and her anarchist cronies want for you? Uh, "Strike!" they say. "Throw down your tools!" they say. Well, I tell you, the moment you do, you will see what those hyenas are made of! I ask you, where are they going to be when its cold outside and your boy's got the Mumps and you've got nothing on your table but regret? Don't you see what the Vox Populi are selling? They are selling dreams! And dreams, my friends, they don't come cheap!" _The recording of Jeremiah Fink blared through a floating contraptions speaker system in conjunction with the built in public address system as it hovered over the mass of people having just arrived, looking for work no doubt.

As they walked about the area they over heard small conversations amongst friends and families. Wives telling their husbands to work hard so as to be recognized and rewarded and friends telling friends about rumors of wonderful opportunities that could lead into management. Booker simply shook his head as he knew all of these good men and woman had probably been filled with lies of hope and success only to spend the rest of their lives toiling away in factories lest their being maimed took them from their craft. Another clap of thunder caused everyone to look up to the sky and a stiff guest caused them to pull their coats closer.

"Let's get inside, no tellin' when the storm might roll through and I'd rather not get caught out in the rain." Booker urged as he made for the left staircase.

Elizabeth nodded and rapidly followed and the pair stepped inside. They were greeted with a large golden statue of the same image that both had seen outside, it depicted the father lifting his child upon his back and shoulders while his happy wife beamed at her hardworking husband as she wrapped her arms around his own. The busy read, "_Your Future Is Finkton". _Looking off to the left they saw an advert for the man of the hour.

"Chen Lin—Gunsmith and Machinist—Looks like there's our man." Booker read as he stepped forward to examine the prices. They weren't _too _bad but they were still a mighty bit expensive for what he was expecting, then again if the man had made his firearms then he would be worth every Eagle.

"Do you think he'll help us?" Elizabeth asked. It was a valid question as neither she nor DeWitt had any encounter with the man in question and only had the word of Daisy Fitzroy as per his temperament and affiliations and her word was, tenuous at best in their eyes.

"God I hope so, else this'll be one long snipe hunt for nothin'." Booker responded grimly.

He didn't enjoy bringing the atmosphere even lower, but he wasn't about to go off lying to the girl or filling her head with notions of things being better than they were. Honesty was the best policy as far as he was concerned and it seemed that Elizabeth appreciated it, so why stop now. They walked into the main processing facility where various groups of disgruntled individuals stood in lines before desks where overworked and underpaid Finkton employees sat and hopelessly attempted to assuage the ever growing ire. Looking over the crowd Booker spotted a sign that indicated a main elevator to Finkton, _perfect. _

"Elizabeth, stick close, I think I may have found our way down." Bookers hand wrapped around hers and he made his way through the crowds with the occaisional 'scuse me'. After a few moments of polite shoving and artful maneuvering they arrived at the opposite end of the room where they stood amongst a new crowd that formed a semi-circle around the entrance to the elevator. As the duo made their way to the front, they finally discovered what all of the hubbub was about.

"_Welcome to Fink Industries recruitment! We are not looking for any help! You hear that? No help!" _A mechanized man painted as if he wore blue coat with a red-and white breast collar announced in a cheery tone. To either side stood two armed older guards in front of two signs which read "No Jobs Today" as they shouted over the din of the room to try to keep calm amongst the populace. Elizabeth placed her hands on Booker's shoulder and stepped up on the heels of her boots and whispered into his ear.

"How are we going to get into Finkton?" Her soft voice sent bristles down his back, an unintended sideaffect of her attempt to get her point across no doubt as Booker shuddered at the strange effects. He looked about the room for any indication of another way when he noticed a service elevator sign pointing downward.

"Illegally by the looks of it." He said back as he looked down at her perplexed face. "Follow me, I think I've found another way inside." With that he began to shove his way through the crowd with Elizabeth following closely behind so as not to be separated in the all of the activity. A flash of light flooded the room as a powerful bolt of lightening leapt from one cloud to another and in quick succession a mighty powerful thunderclap overwhelmed the raucous din of the room. Elizabeth, having been startled by the display of nature, practically leapt into Booker's back and almost nearly knocked him flat on his face. The detective stumbled forward and turned to face Elizabeth.

"Hey there, you alright?" He asked, concerned as he looked around to see if anyone had elected to get cross with the girl. Yet, all he saw was Elizabeth nervously rubbing her shoulder and looking downward, almost embarrassed.

"Sorry, I um must have got a little startled again." She replied in the quietest of voices and Booker had the sudden and nigh-irresistible impulse to pull the young girl into a warm embrace. But he stood firm, he couldn't act on such things lest he give the girl and himself a certain impression…but he wondered, would that have been so wrong? Such thoughts would need to be examined further at a different time as his window of opportunity was diminishing by the second as nobody appeared to be paying attention to their detour down the steps and he aimed to keep it that way.

They made their way down the carpeted steps where they came across a locked-gated door. Booker gave a few meaningful tugs on the metallic bars but evidently it seemed that Fink wasn't one to cheapen out on his own security. Fortunately he had the best little lockpick in all of Columbia at his side.

"Elizabeth, think you could take a crack at this?" Booker asked as he stepped aside.

"Oh…you mean, that little thing?" Elizabeth playfully bantered back as she stepped up and set to work on the lock, having already pulled a bobby pin from her sleeve. She bent over began to manipulate the inner mechanisms and before Booker could say anymore the loud 'click' of the lock opening stopped him in his tracks. Elizabeth lithely pried the gates open and pushed the doors outward.

"There we are, child's play." The young woman said haughtily with a false air of superiority about her as she made to aristocratically fix her otherwise perfect hair. Booker couldn't help but give a rare laugh in her direction she whirled around with a grin to meet his gaze. "Something funny, Mister DeWitt?"

"Not if you don't count you being all high and mighty over a simple lock pick." Booker chuckled and Elizabeth huffed as her cheeks took on a scarlet hue.

"I don't see you doing any better." She shot back playfully and Booker raised his hands up in defense.

"Hey, never said I could. All I'm sayin' is, that whole display was so—what's the word—cute." Booker finished as he walked down the steps toward another row of golden fink statues, focusing more on the sign indicating the way to the service elevator than anything else. Elizabeth merely stood at the top of the staircase with a beaming smile on her face.

"Cute, finally, making some progress." She mumbled to herself.

"What was that?" Booker called from the bottom of the stairs having only been half paying attention as he turned. Elizabeth took breath and composed herself.

"Oh, nothing, I was just saying that the service elevator is nearby." She readily responded to which the detective nodded in agreement and motioned with his head for her to catch up. He waited as she descended and they both crossed the way to the far off staircase leading to the center of the room. By all appearances this looked to be another off-shoot of the Columbian Authority, but as they made their way to the base level it appeared that the whole of the area was bereft of any life or activity.

"Huh." Booker's comment erupted from the silence as Elizabeth looked over some documents at one of the desks.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Guess I was expecting people still at their posts." He responded as he took out his watch and checked the time. "Perhaps we caught them in the midst of a duty swap. Better hurry before we find out." He concluded as he went over and pushed the button to summon the elevator. He heard the machinery come to life as the lift began to rise to meet them, meanwhile Elizabeth was inspecting an open locker.

"Booker, look at this, it's Slate's locker!" Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised by her own discovery as she rifled through his belongings.

"Slate? Odd. He must've worked here then at some point or another." Booker put his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall and waited.

"Oh my God!" She shrieked and Booker stood immediately at full attention.

"What? What's the matter!" He approached the girl in a panic as she whirled around clutching a black leather journal with golden in-laid words that he couldn't make out due to the girl's grip over the reading material.

"This—this is her diary. My mother's diary! I wonder why Slate would have it." She finished with a murmur as she opened the tome and began to peruse its contents. As Booker went to ask if she found anything insightful the lights shut down and plunged the whole of the room into darkness givng Elizabeth cause to call out in surprise and Booker to step closer to her last known location as he drew his weapon. A whistle blow cut thought the darkness and soon the room filled with the sounds of boots marching across the floor and down the stairs and, along with them, the horrific whirling of gears coming to life nearby gave them both a start. When the lights flickered back on, they were surrounded by a contingent of men wearing olive green uniforms, backed up by a Motorized Patriot armed with a crank gun.

"Booker…" Elizabeth worriedly began as the man in question ushered her behind him as he held his revolver out ward, shifting his aim amongst multiple targets as he assessed the situation. Armed with his vigors he stood a fighting chance, but given the small area of battle, there was a huge risk of Elizabeth getting caught in the crossfire and he couldn't abide by that.

"Stay behind me, Elizabeth. I'll get us outta' this, somehow." He finished which did very little to ease her tensions. Just then the sound of slow moving footsteps across the polished wooden floors filled the otherwise silent room; moving through the crowd, a longhaired well-manicured man stepped forward before the lead of the contingent. He wore a grown double-breasted long-coat.

"You must forgive the zealous-ness of our efforts, but Mister Fink is well aware of your capabilities and couldn't risk sending any less than the best." The man's low voice clarified a somewhat as he motioned for the armed officers to lower their weapons.

"And just who might you be?" Booker asked cautiously as he refused to lower his own Hand Cannon and kept the firearm trained on this newcomer.

"My name is Flambeau…Martin Flambeau…at your service. My employer has…well…just listen for yourself…" The man offered as he retrieved revealed his other hand to be carrying a voxophone and opted to play the device.

"_Booker James DeWitt. My oh my, you are a tough man to nail down! This is Jeremiah Fink here! Listen my boy, we've had our eye on you for 'quite' some time and I can tell you right now, you are our top candidate. TOP! Now, my associate, Mister Flambeau will help you with anything you need, ha-ha. I've made some arrangements for you to stay at Fink Tower for the evening. Due to my busy schedule we won't have the opportunity to meet today to discuss the opportunity as I would like but I am in the process of re-organizing my calendar and…well…we'll pen something in for tomorrow. I'll have Mister Flambeau fill you in once the details are determined. Ciao! _

The playback ended and Martin placed the device in the hands of a junior officer who walked off to place it on his desk. Booker looked down at Elizabeth who appeared to be pleasantly surprised at the whole exchange, her face going from a worried scowl to a delightful smile.

"What the hell was that?" She asked in utter disbelief.

"I have _no _idea." He softly chuckled in spite of himself.

"He seems oddly pleased to make your acquaintance." Elizabeth motioned with a twirl of her hand as she traded looks between Booker and Flambeau.

"If that is all, might I ask you to accompany me. I have a private rail that will take us to the Empire District of Finkton." Martin interrupted as he gestured with his hands for the pair to follow. Booker looked at Elizabeth for her input but she seemed to be of a positive opinion and so he shrugged as it appeared that he they finally were given a break.

"By all means, we'll follow." Booker accepted as he holstered the Hand Cannon and relaxed his stance.

"Excellent, if you will please, and step lively. The storm is presently upon us."

* * *

Martin Flambeau led the duo back up through the crowded room and across the way to a locked passageway, for official use only, as the labels above the door clearly indicated. But for a man like Flambeau, who had access to virtually all of Finkton, every use was for official business. He ordered the remaing men either to stand vigil or return to their posts before leading Booker and Elizabeth through a maze of corridors all of which lead to a private station where a pristine SkyTrain lay in wait. On the outside it appeared just as the written description of the old railroad magnates private locomotives were described; well painted, highly polished, and kept in pristine condition. The small group boarded and the internal appearance definitely matched the exterior with red leather seatings, various highly artistic paintings and even a full service bar. The personal assistant gave a small tug of a rope and the entirety of the line began to move with haste around the welcoming tower and down a separate line into a portion of the city that easily rivaled, if not surpassed, the achievement that was New York City with its high rises and skyscrapers galore. As they approached empire-like city, a new recording began:

"_Greetings! My name is Jeremiah Fink and I want to share with you my personal creed. What is the most admirable creature on God's green earth? Why, it's the bee! Have you ever seen a bee on vacation? Have you ever seen a bee take a sick day? Well my friends, the answer is no! So I say, be…the bee! Be the Bee!" _Finks cheerful speech ended as they wound their way through the sky of the small city within a city. To color Booker impressed at the marvel of this man's achievement was an understatement, that was until he realized the price that must have been paid for such a colossal undertaking. Booker turned to address Elizabeth and seek her opinion on the scale of this 'Titan of Industry's' achievements when looked down to see her tearing through the diary with great haste, her face held a mixture of emotions as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Her breath hitched and she brought a hand to her mouth before slamming the book shut in her hand and turned her head toward the window, her eyes clamped shut as her body slightly wracked with controlled sobs. He wanted to inquire but the unceremonious jolt of the SkyTrain detatching as it met with a magnetized rail on the ground shifted his attention. The train moved with incredible speeds as it cut through the otherwise hectic traffic of the district with ease. Never halting, never ceasing, continuously pushing through until it reached its intended destination. Fink Tower.

From the windows of the car, the tower was absolutely massive. It was like a black obelisk standing amidst the rest of the grey and ashen skyline. It stood fifty-eight stories high by Booker's count. It was a reinforced concrete construction with a dark glass curtain wall. The tower itself had a jagged façade with many sides, Fink's means of maximizing wealth and use simultaneously. The train came to halt directly in front of the main entrance and a calvacade of Fink employees rushed out into the rain and stood in a complete row that stretched from the double doors of the building to the exit of the train. They each expanded their umbrellas and held them out, so as to create a perfect defense which zero rain penetrated.

"Right, if you'll follow me, we'll get you two checked in and you guy enjoy the remainder of the evening in luxurious comfort." Martin encouraged as he opened the door and gestured for the pair to step out. Booker looked to Elizabeth who gave a stone cold look of anger and bitterness.

"Elizabeth are you—" Booker began but was cut short.

"I'm fine, let's just get inside." Her sour response shot out and Booker winced at the vitriol in her normally happy self. He wanted to get to the bottom of it but given that they were in a public space with many eyes and ears on them, he thought better and would wait until they were alone inside.

He helped the young woman out of her seat and let her step out first onto the drying pavement as the sound of raindrops collided with the umbrellas. Booker followed shortly which Flambeau then exited the train and stepped between them to lead the way into the tower. Once inside they were free to enjoy the grandeur and splendor of Fink's personal monument. It reminded Booker considerably of the First Lady Hotel but everything was far more impressive. Large marble tables atop marble floors, massive fireplaces, huge sitting rooms adjoining other rooms, like a palace that never seemed to end and in the center of the room sat a large desk with a towering waterfall behind it. The high ceilings and the marvelous columns only served to add to the wealth and progress the hotel exuded. The group approached and Flambeau addressed the man directly as Booker spun around slowly to take it all in, even after all of this time in Columbia, he could never get used to the displays of wealth. He looked down and saw Elizabeth nearly lose her composure and straightened himself up.

"Hey Elizabeth—" Booker began but was once more interrupted by Martin who handed him a key with a room number.

"If you'll follow the attendant, he will see you to the elevator wherein you will find your room. Now if you'll excuse me, I must take my leave. Ah, but before I go, Mister Fink has rendered the services of a highly acclaimed medium to conduct a séance tonight. With all of the sightings of Ghosts and other such things throughout the city and even unconfirmed reports in the dreggs of Finkton, Mister Frink wishes to take every precaution to ensure that the majority Finkton remains unaffected by the sins of those below." Elizabeth perked up a little at prospect of an actual medium and looked over at Booker. She had read a great deal about them in the very little literature on the subject provided, and though her religious upbringing would have her steer clear there was something of a morbid curiosity she held that couldn't be avoided.

"Perhaps we can attend this evening?" She offered in a small voice, it was the first time she had spoken since prior to boarding the train and Booker wasn't about to let the opportunity to help pass him by and the detective gave her a soft nod before turning to acknowledge the offering man.

"Splendid, Mister Fink has already taken the effort to secure you seats at considerable expense. Please take these two tickets and keep them on you for tonight and please be down by nine o'clock pm." Flambeau nearlu took his leave when the operator at the desk called out and let him know that Harry Flagler and Frederick Vanderbilt both were on hold to make arrangements for their annual upcoming visit with Mister Fink. As Flambeau stood aside ot sort matters out the aforementioned attendant stepped forward and asked for them to follow. The small group then proceeded toward the elevators and once summoned, stepped inside as the attended pushed the button for them and away they went; It surprised them both that they found themselves on the fifty-eighth floor.

"Here we are, you'll note there are only four rooms on this floor. The room at the direct end of the hall is Mister Fink's private penthouse suite. Your Penthouse suite will be room will be at the end and to the right. If you have any wants, needs, or any questions, please use the interior phone, as that will route you directly to the front desk. Thank you for your patronage at Fink Tower." He ended as he bowed and stepped back inside the elevator and departed without much further word. Booker looked bewildered at the now shut elevator and back at Elizabeth who had folded her arms. He needed to get them inside so they could talk, so he quickened his pace and approached the door to their room.

He inserted the key and nearly fell flat on his face at the display of luxury. The room, or rather rooms, were so large they could fit his apartment back in New York comfortably inside with plenty of room to spare. To his right was a sitting room surrounded by windows looking out into the city. The room possessed a complete set of leather furniture all arranged around a gigantic fireplace. A sizeable bar was situated in the far corner of the room, composed entirely of rich mahogany and boasting of the finest liquors this side of North America. On the center table, Booker spied a wooden guitar, complete with a few sheets of music. Surprising to say the least, but it could have been left by the previous guest. The walls that weren't lined with windows were they themselves lined with ceiling high bookshelves, lined with various tomes and volumes only separated by book ends, busts, and trinkets from global expeditions.

Looking ahead through an open doorway Booker could see a sizeable golden fainting couch with a small black coffee table, modern literature and periodicals littered its surface. Behind it on an elevated platform rested a mattress of incredible size, more than befitting of two people with linens that looked so soft they could put one quickly to rest and float them to the best of dreamscapes. He leaned through the doorway and spotted a set of doors on either side, probably leading to closets and restrooms. He couldn't see much more without stepping inside, but he imagined he would become more-or-less familiar with the room as the night wore on.

Off to the right, was an elongated mahogany conference table, lined with leather rotating chairs. On the front and left side of the table where glass doors leading out onto an expansive balcony outside complemented by weather-resistant furniture and an outdoor fire pit. Booker stepped up and spotted a swimming pool. The detective doubted he could ever make enough money in his entire life to actually warrant an honest stay in such an establishment. But Booker quickly regained control of his thoughts as he needed to get to the bottom of Elizabeth's shift in attitude and demeanor.

"Okay, since we got on the train and you started reading you've been all outta sorts. What's going on?" Booker asked as he turned to face the curious woman whose eyes currently fixated on the chandelier above them.

"I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind." She spat as she turned away from them.

"Not on your life little missy, now you got some explainin' to do. You damn near broke down in tears on the train and the same could be said for the lobby, and now you're pushing me away. All of which are very un-Elizabeth-like of you. Now are you gonna tell me what's going on or are we gonna have to play twenty questions until I figure it out?" Booker pushed and Elizabeth gave a huff of her shoulders and sighed as she walked into the sitting room, Booker following, his eyes never leaving her as she sat on the couch and held her head in her hands as she began to sob. He rounded the chairs and sat directly next to her placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and all at once she leaned into him.

"Hey, hey, what's all this about?" Booker spoke softly as Elizabeth looked up from her hands as tears streaked down her perfect cheeks.

"She…she…she didn't even want me. But of course she wouldn't after all I'm not even hers!" She cried out once more as she sunk her head back into her hands. Booker reared back slightly and tried to make sense of her words.

"Slow down now, what do you mean? Who didn't want you? Whose aren't…um…you?" He finished awkwardly.

"My mother…no…Lady Comstock!" She finished bitterly as she stood and opened the diary once more and shifted through the pages until she found what she was looking for and began to read. "My husband claims the child was created from whole cloth by divine will. I am a believer but am not a fool. His…b-bastard s-shall not be r-raised under this r-roof." She finished, barely able to keep her composure before falling back into the couch once more.

"First I learn that it was my father, _the _Father Comstock, who kept me locked away as far back as I can remember! Then I learn he wants _me _to lead the whole city and usher in a new era of God's glory! And now, I come to find out that the woman who I'd briefly come to know as my dearest mother, not only wasn't my mother but held me in complete disdain and locked me up in that accursed tower to start with!" Elizabeth clutched the sides of her head as she rocked back in forth trying to digest all of these blows as they come. Booker figured it was only a matter of time before she cracked and he had a feeling he was seeing the end result.

"Why me? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? I just wanted a normal life! I just wanted a normal family! I just...I just...wanted to be loved for once, to know that I was wanted." She cried out and curled into a ball on the couch and sobbed emphatically, letting loose the pressure and sorrow of the past few days as it all came flooding out.

"Elizabeth...hey, it's...I mean...ah damn it." Booker muttered as he made several false starts in an attempt to comfort the sobbing girl. "Elizabeth, hey you're an amazing girl, I don't know why Lady Comstock felt that way, but just because you did doesn't mean you deserved it or did anything wrong. For all we know she was just as dirty as Comstock!" Booker tried but Elizabeth continued to sob unabated by his words.

Booker nearly gave up when he spotted the guitar once more. He got an idea, something that his Uncle had tried with him and his siblings long ago, far back into the earliest days of his childhood just following the loss of his own father. Back then he'd held himself in the deepest pits of despair, but the older man would have nothing of it and instead letting the younger DeWitt wallow in self pitty he would pull out his own guitar and sing a bevy of songs until the young Booker cracked a smile and would do the same for the others. He looked between Elizabeth and the instrument and made his decision. He began to tune the fine guitar, though it didn't need much in the way of adjustment as the previous owner had kept it in fine order. He strummed his fingers across a few of the strings and began playing one of his early childhood favorites, something that always brought a smile to his face, even thought it was meant to be played on a very specific time of year.

"_Good King Wenceslas Looked out, on the Feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about, clear and crisp and even;_

_Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter's fuel." _

Bookers deep melodic voice ceased as he played on, his eyes shut as memories of him, his mother, siblings, and Uncle dancing and cheering around a fire on a cold winter night flooded him with warmth. He hadn't noticed that Elizabeth rose her head from the couch and looked on at her companion with a look of surprise.

"_Hither, page, and stand by me, if though knowest telling, yonder peasant who is where and what his dwelling." _Booker was about to continue when a soft voice began from other side of the couch.

"_Sire he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain." _Elizabeth finished softly, her voice only marred by the soft sobs that she quickly reined in. Booker smiled as he stopped playing and gave shared the same look of astonishment that she wore.

"I didn't know you could play Guitar, much less sing with such a beautiful voice Booker." Elizabeth wiped her eyes with her cuffs as she gave a chuckle at the sight of the light scarlet hue on Booker's cheeks. "I'd say you definitely missed your calling, you could make a great career for yourself.

"Hm, come one, come all, and see the singing gunslinger?" Booker mused and laughed. "I rather doubt that'd play well for my sensibilities." He judged himself and Elizabeth lightly frowned.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, I could easily see you finding success. Thought one thing does have me baffled." Elizabeth crooked her jaw in thought.

"Oh? What's that?" He asked.

"Good King Wenceslas is a Christmas carol, and we're in the early weeks of July." Elizabeth retorted and Booker made an 'ah' motion.

"It was my favorite growing up as a young lad. When I lost my dad and Uncle came to live with us, things were hard in the beginning. I would sulk and withdraw from everyone, mean, it was hard to go through that. But my Uncle wouldn't let up, he refused to see us down and would sing us songs until we'd all but forgotten what made us sad." Booker paused with a wistful grin. "I figured with everything you've been through today, you could use a good song." He responded back with a wink and Elizabeth blushed with a smile.

"Well I don't know if a song will make me get over it all in a day, but it certainly helps." She laughed and nodded. "Say, Booker, would you mind playing something else for me?" She asked somewhat timidly, afraid of his response.

"Oh, uh, sure, if I know it, I can probably play it." Booker shocked at her request answered honestly, he wasn't about to tell her yes only to disappoint.

"My favorite hymn, it called…it's called, 'Will The Circle Be Unbroken', do you know how that goes?" Elizabeth asked nervously and Booker furrowed his brow as he made a few minor adjustments as he played and strummed his fingers along the chords to get the proper tune.

"I-I think I've heard that one before, here give me a second. I think it goes something like this, by all means stop me if I'm wrong." He offered with the utmost sincerity and began to play.

"_There are loved ones, in the glory whose dear forms you often miss. When you close your earthly, will you join them in your bliss."  
_

Booker began with the softest tone Elizabeth had ever heard. The sheer emotion and power of his voice nearly brought her to tears and she didn't dare interrupt as he continued.

"_Will the circle, be unbroken By and by, by and by? Is a better home awaiting in the sky, in the sky?"_

Booker finished singing and was about to ask if it was the proper song when Elizabeth began her own melodic tone and he rapid picked the song back up to keep up.

"_In the Joyous, days of childhood, oft they told of wondrous love, Pointed to the dying savior; Now they dwell with Him above._

Elizabeth sang out with more soul than Booker had ever heard in any church choir or anywhere else as a matter of fact. Even the heavenly singing when he first stepped foot on Columbia's shores paled in comparison to the sanctity of her voice. Together they sang the chorus.

"_Will the circle, be unbroken, By and by, by and by. Is a better home awaiting, in the sky, in the sky?" _

Elizabeth wiped another tear from her eyes and huffed with a smile on her face as she looked to the detective who himself had done the same. Booker blushed as he couldn't outright interpret Elizabeth's emotions so he couldn't tell if he made matters better or worse. He watched as she stood and looked over at the clock and then approached him and leaned in forward and pulled the man into a heartfelt hug and whispered.

"Thank you, Booker." She lightly kissed his cheek and looked back. "For caring enough to make me feel better. Nobody in my entire life has ever done something so sweet." She clarified truthfully and stood back up as the baffled detective gaped like a fish.

"It's eight thirty, we have some time to get washed up before the séance this evening. I'm going to take advantage and I suggest you do the same." She remarked playfully and made for the exit as hung a left into the bedroom, hoping to locate a nearby washroom while Booker sat perfectly still, unsure how exactly to handle what just transpired.

"I-I think I'm in trouble." He muttered as he brought an errant hand to brush the spot on his cheek where her rose-pedal soft lips had collided with his abrasive cheek.

* * *

**Endnote: A slight tardiness on my part but this was a long one and took a lot of editing and a lot of effort. I really do hope you all like it. I'm hoping to have a small Christmas one-shot out by tomorrow evenings, so keep an eye out for that but anyway thank you all for reading. I hope you like this gift from me to you.**

**Thank you all for your reviews as well! They really do help!**

**Respectfully,**

**TheLifeLongEditor.**


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